


Wearing Your Story

by helloearthlings



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Analysis, Character Study, During Canon, F/M, Friendship, Gen, High School, M/M, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Parallels, Pre-Canon, after college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: Sammy Stevens and Ben Arnold meet on May 1, 2015, and over the next three years, their lives become inextricably entangled.Ten years earlier, they both make the decisions that will lead them to a lonely radio station up in the mountains and to each other. But even from a thousand miles away and with no connection to speak of, they have more in common than not.





	1. May

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is the project fic. I don't know how well the summary does it justice, but you'll probably figure out my formula pretty fast. Basically - a year in the life fic, highlighting some particular parallels between our two favorite radio hosts. I'm trying to do a lot with the fic, and I don't know how much will come across in the first chapter, but I'm really hoping this goes well!
> 
> Hopefully I'll update around three times a week, though that is a very generous prediction. At least twice for sure, unless anything unforeseen happens. But I really hope you enjoy the first chapter! The second is written, but until I figure out how much of the third is getting written tonight, I won't promise when the next one will post. For sure sometime this week, though! Hope you like it!

******King Falls Colorado, May 2015**

The shack on the mountain is old, dilapidated, falling apart, on a steady downhill slope, is sure to get condemned one of these days.

Ben’s unfazed. He doesn’t even notice the shingles falling off anymore. He trusts that the station isn’t going to betray him after all this time. It’s stayed in one piece this long enough. The station has looked like this since the first time Ben stepped foot inside, and that’s been years now. It doesn’t bother him; he’s comfortable here like he’s comfortable in his childhood bedroom.

He pulls into the station forty-five minutes early, jittery and nervous and slightly terrified for his first night producing the new big city radio guy’s show, and heads in to get the coffee going and go over the schedule he’d meticulously penned out for the night.

Sammy, on the other hand, is wary of the station when he pulls in, only fifteen minutes early, having gotten lost on the winding mountain roads. All he can see is the flaws - the dirty, smudged windows, the shingles flapping in the wind, the single lightbulb above the door flickering like something out of the first shots of a horror movie.

He doesn’t have that trust in the station that Ben does, but he pulls his jacket more tightly around himself to steel himself. He takes a deep and unsteady breath as he sits in his parked car, staring up at the building with trepidation, wishing he didn’t have to go inside.

His mind overrides his body eventually. Sammy gets out of his car, locks it, and walks up to the building, taking notice of only two other cars in the parking lot.

Chet Sebastian’s on the air, with his signature rumbling, smooth voice that matches the music he plays. Ben learned how to tune the jazz music out a long time ago, humming along to it as he sips his coffee.

It’s new to Sammy, who takes notice of Chet in the booth when he comes in, and can hear the strains of Frank Sinatra play faintly in the background. 

“Hey,” Ben looks up when he sees the new guy enter. Tall, lean, long brown hair that’s long enough to curl behind the guy’s ears. He looks more lost than anything, and Ben quickly says, “You’re Sammy Stevens, right? The new host?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Sammy clears his throat, straightens his shoulders. The other guy is small, young, Sammy can already tell he’s energetic by the way he’s smiling, nervous but excited. “You’re the producer here? Ben Arnold?”

“That’s me,” Ben grins, and gestures toward the coffee pot. “Um, do you want any? I brewed a pot right when I got here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sammy says, feeling a kind of ache immediately. Someone he doesn't know doing something nice for him. It’s been awhile since that’s happened. Ben pulls a mug out of the single dilapidated cupboard above the sink. It’s not much of a break room, with the one cupboard matched by one rickety chair and one table, all paint-chipped and wooden. Sammy would be afraid to sit in the chair for fear of breaking it. 

The mug says  _ Best Small Town in America!  _ on the side with a logo of a trio of evergreens. Sammy’s so preoccupied with taking notice of the details that he doesn’t hear Ben the first time he clears his throat.

“Um, how do you take it?” Ben asks as he pours the coffee.

“Uh, cream,” Sammy forces the awkwardness and uncomfortability out of his voice. “No sugar.”

“I’ll let you add the cream,” Ben says, his smile small but still overwhelmingly genuine in a way that Sammy can’t quite take. He even pulls the cream out of the cupboard for Sammy, and even though it’s an awful Nestle creamer, Sammy can’t not use it, it would feel rude.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Sammy says, his voice small in way Ben never expected from him, and moves closer to Ben to set the mug on the table and add the cream slowly. 

Ben doesn’t want to be a geek in the first two minutes he knows the guy, but he can’t help but ask “So, Merv says you’re some kind of big city radio star.”

Sammy turns red, and Ben’s glad that he isn’t nearly as intimidating as Ben had been imagining as he prepared all week. Sammy seems ordinary, unassuming, just a regular guy, more humble than Ben anticipated.

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Sammy mumbles under his breath, taking a sip of his coffee to avoid making eye contact with Ben.

“How’d you end up here?” Ben asks, because he can’t help himself. It’s not often someone new moves to town, especially someone so interesting. 

“It’s a long story,” Sammy says with a slight laugh, one he hopes doesn’t sound too forced. He’s sure it’s the only true thing he’s going to say about how he ended up here, the real story feeling like a bruise that Ben’s pressing on just by asking the most innocuous of questions. “Merv sent me some info about the job, I was looking for a change, so I took it.”

Sammy swallows with some difficulty. 

“I guess it’s not that long of a story,” he mutters, trying to obscure his face with the coffee cup inconspicuously. He doesn’t mention how many key details he missed. “What did Merv tell you about me?”

He wants to make sure any details line up, and it makes Sammy feel a little sick to his stomach, that he’s going to keep lying, after all this time, after all that’s happened. He still can’t get the words out. He was always supposed to have Jack next to him when the words came out.

Ben snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, Merv barely told me anything. You’ll learn soon enough that Merv is a name on a paycheck and an annoyed email when you do something wrong, and not much else. Never met him in person and I’ve been here for ages.”

“How’d you end up here, then?” Sammy asks, both to deflect from himself, and because he should probably know that kind of thing about his producer, even if he never imagined having a producer he didn’t already have memorized head to toe.

Ben tries not to shrink inside himself at the question. It isn’t that Ben is ashamed; he loves his hometown, its secrets and spooks and utter uniqueness. There’s nowhere else like it. But he knows how it sounds; staying in your small town years after graduation was hardly the most impressive to a literal radio star.

“This is where I’m from,” Ben says, deciding he may as well own it. “I’ve been at the radio station on and off for years, but I’ve always been in King Falls. It’s the best town in the world.”

He can’t help but get a little defensive, but Sammy just smiles at him. 

“According to my mug,” Sammy says, lifting up the coffee in a faux-toast before he takes another sip. Ben sighs, relieved at the joke even as he blushes over the slightly embarrassing logo he hadn’t taken notice of before. “I guess I’ll reserve my own judgment after I’ve been in town a little longer.”

“You’ll love it,” Ben tells him, and hopes it’s true. “If you have any questions about the town or anything, just let me know. I know pretty much everything about the falls.”

“Well, you’ll have to show me the ropes,” Sammy says, and they both laugh. It’s clearly a joke; Sammy’s this radio professional who’s obviously lowering himself to take a job here, and Ben knows perfectly well he looks like he hasn’t aged a day since sixteen. 

Still, it feels like a promise when Ben says “Gladly.”

* * *

 

**King Falls Colorado, May 2005**

“So, what are everybody’s summer plans?”

Ben shrinks further into his desk, playing with the strings on his hoodie and not making eye contact with Mr. Sheffield as he smiles benignly at the class, eyes bright and kind underneath his bifocals. Ben’s glad he sits in the back row as the whole class shuffles and murmurs and doesn’t answer.

“Come on, folks, who’s doing something  _ fun _ ?” Mr. Sheffield says, and Ben winces when the slightest slur can be detected in his voice. Everyone already whispers in the halls about Mr. Sheffield liking alcohol a little too much, and Ben doesn’t want any of the administration to hear the whispers. Mr. Sheffield’s one of the only teachers that likes him.

Tentatively, Tori in the first row raises her hand. “Well, I mean, I’m working at the car wash, but before I start my family and I are going to California for vacation.”

“That sounds fun, Tori,” Mr. Sheffield smiles at her in praise. “Anybody else?”

A few other people pipe up with family vacation plans to places Ben can’t even dream of going, and all he can do is just stare at the desk in front of him. He doesn’t ever go on vacation. He’s only been to Denver a few times in his life, and that’s only a couple hours away. 

“I’m just working,” Ben’s startled by Troy’s voice from next to him. Troy doesn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as Ben does, but there’s a self-deprecating tone to his voice even as a couple other students titter  _ trailer trash  _ and  _ junkie father _ . “Out at the lumber yard.”

Ben can’t even feel sympathy for Troy. The lumber yard wouldn’t hire Ben, because Ben still hadn’t scraped the 5’3” mark on the ruler and couldn’t lift anything to save his life. Troy gets a couple sighs from girls even amidst the mean comments from the other guys, because Troy’s tall and strong and nice to look at. Ben just keeps shrinking. 

“Me too,” Riley Bevins says from the front row. “Receptionist at Big Pine Campground.”

“I’m working Bent and Dent,” Pete pipes up like it’s something to be proud of and Ben feels something turn in his stomach. “So’s Benny Arnold, that right, Ben?”

Ben can feel too many eyes on him even though he doesn’t look up. The strings of his hoodie are white, and soft, and he runs them through his fingers. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, not looking at anyone.

Someone else talks, and Ben can fade into the background again like he’s best at. It isn’t long before the bell rings, dismissing the students for summer break. There are a few scattered cheers in the classroom that Ben doesn’t take part in, instead shouldering his book bag and trying to get out of the classroom as fast as he can.

He’s not that lucky, though, and Mr. Sheffield stops him with a “Ben? Can we talk for one minute?”

Ben purses his lips, turns around from where he was about to escape out the door, and walks against the tide of swarming students to get back to Mr. Sheffield’s desk. 

Mr. Sheffield smiles, and Ben know from the way his eyes aren’t quite in focus that he’s at least tipsy. Ben had plenty of practice with his dad, he knows what a drunk guy looks like, but Mr. Sheffield is kind and gentle and not anything like Ben’s father. At least Ben hopes.

“Didn’t I tell you at the beginning of the semester that you should apply to the radio station? Or Channel Three news?” Mr. Sheffield’s voice is so nice and unassuming it almost hurts, and then Ben’s the one not making eye contact. “You always talk about being a journalist someday. And I know they sometimes will let high schoolers come intern out there. It’d be a good fit for you, Benny.”

“It’s Ben,” Ben half-mutters under his breath. No one ever listens to him, but he may as well try to get rid of his childhood nickname before it’s stuck forever. Which it might be already. “And I looked into it, Mr. Sheffield.”

Ben grimaces as Mr. Sheffield looks questioningly at him. “Channel 3 didn’t accept my application. Said they only take eighteen and older. And the radio station can’t afford to pay me. They said I could help out on a volunteer basis, but. I need to save for college.”

Mr. Sheffield nods slowly, and Ben gets the uncomfortable feeling that he’s too perceptive for a man constantly on the edge of sobriety. 

“Well, if you change your mind,” Mr. Sheffield says with kindness leaking into his voice that Ben appreciates, “my girl Esther just started her own show every night at six. I’m sure she’d like for you to help out if you’re off work by then. She’s got her own show, Benny! She’s doing a sewing corner.”

Mr. Sheffield sounds so proud that Ben can’t help but smile. 

“I’m sure I’ll be working,” Ben says, because if there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s that Bill will create the worst possible summer schedule for him like always. “But thanks for the offer.”

“You call if you need anything this summer,” Mr. Sheffield says. “Just because we’re not in school doesn’t mean I can’t help out, alright?”

“Alright,” Ben forces a smile, already knowing he won’t call. “I hope you have a good summer, Mr. Sheffield. Maybe I’ll see you at the bass fishing tournament.”

Mr. Sheffield breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, me and Hersch have been preparing all year! You’ll have to work hard to pull one over on us!”

Ben laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll see you this fall.”

It’s kind of sad, Ben thinks as he gets out of the classroom and into the busy hallway, full of his classmates cheering and celebrating and socializing, that Mr. Sheffield is the closest thing he has to a friend at school. Not that he’s not grateful or anything, but it makes his chest hurt a little.

He gets to his locker, pulls out all of his books to pile into his bag. It’s the last day of school, and he’ll get blamed if the locker isn’t clean, so he takes the extra time to make sure there’s no paper scraps or eraser pieces floating around in there. 

He pauses before he shuts the locker, the spray paint from that fall still visible even underneath the new paint job.  _ No Friends Ben  _ in bright red paint. The principal had been furious, apologized wholeheartedly to Ben, but had never figured out who’d done it, so no one was punished.

Ben thinks it was probably Pete Meyers, or else Chicken Foot Dixon snuck back into the school after graduating just to make Ben’s life worse all over again. 

“Hey, Benny, how’s it going?”

Ben shuts his locker to find Troy on the other side, smiling like they’re the best of friends. Troy might also be the closest thing Ben has to a friend, but he doesn’t  _ really  _ count. They were friends back in middle school, that was all, and Troy was still nice to him even though they never hung out. 

Troy would hang out if Ben asked, but Ben’s not going to ask. Just because he has no friends doesn’t mean he has no pride. He told Troy that their friendship was over years ago, and he’s sticking to that promise, no matter how lonely that makes him. 

“Okay,” Ben says a little tentatively. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Troy says, and Ben hates the way he leans against the lockers, practically looming over Ben. Ben always feels small, because he is, but never is it more pronounced and noticeable than with Troy. Troy’s more than a foot taller than him. Ben feels woefully inadequate in comparison.  “Can I walk out with you?”

“I guess,” Ben mutters, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. It’s too heavy, but Ben’s not going to ask Troy to carry it for him, mainly because of that aforementioned pride. Troy’s blinking at him like he’s willing to offer, and Ben starts walking down the hall faster to dissuade him.

Troy doesn’t struggle to catch up. Obviously. 

“So you’re working at the Bent and Dent,” Troy says. “That sounds fun.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ben says and Troy grimaces. Ben knows what this is about now - it’s commiserating. Ben might still be on the fence about whether he can afford college, but there’s no question about it for Troy. He won’t be able to afford it, not even the community college here in town.

They make it out the front doors of the school into the bright May sunshine, and Ben shoves his hands in his pockets and heads in the direction of his house, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

Even though Troy doesn’t live near him, he keeps walking next to Ben, shortening his strides to keep an even pace. It makes Ben unreasonably angry for absolutely no reason.

“Better than the lumber mill,” Troy tries to justify, but Ben knows he’s lying to make Ben feel better. “It’s just me and a bunch of guys who’ve already graduated. The only one I know is Tim Jensen.”

“Sounds like a better coworker than Pete,” Ben mutters under his breath and Troy half-grins at him. 

“I’ll give you that, I s’pose,” Troy says as they skirt around the yellow school buses pulling out of the parking lot. “But you’ll see a lotta townsfolk. They’ll make conversation. I’ll be alone all summer.”

Ben snorts. “Yeah, conversation with all the little old church ladies who wanna pinch my cheeks. Everyone our age won’t even make eye contact.”

“You worked there for awhile, ain’t ya’?” Troy says quietly, and Ben nods.

“Every summer,” Ben says. “Sometimes during the year on the weekends if they need the help.”

“Least you’re used to it,” Troy says softly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll ring me up at some point and I promise I’ll make eye contact. Even smile.”

“Good for you,” Ben says and he knows it’s too sharp, that Troy’s just trying to be nice and Ben’s holding a grudge that should’ve expired by now. Troy gives him a hurt look, but Ben can’t find it in himself to forgive him even if he feels bad. Petty grudges are all Ben has to keep him company most of the time. 

“I mean,” Ben says, figuring he can at least not be rude about it, “I hope you have a good summer, Troy.”

“You too, bud,” Troy says, and they walk in silence until Troy takes the next turn and waves goodbye to Ben as he goes.

Ben tightens the straps on his backpack and tries to think of something to look forward to this summer. He can sneak into the library and check out books about the history of King Falls. Maybe his mom will get him some books for his birthday this summer. It’s in August, so it’s a ways off, but it’ll give him something to plow forward toward.

Summer’s only fifteen weeks long. Ben’s counting down already. Not that school is much to look forward to, but at least when he’s in class Ben can pretend he has friends since he’s talking to people his own age every day. It’s going to become glaringly obvious in the next fifteen weeks that there’s not a single person Ben can call to hang out with.

Next week it’ll be fourteen weeks, Ben reminds himself as he gets closer to his house to motivate him to walk the rest of the day. It can’t be fourteen weeks until Ben gets home. 

He’s surprised to see that his mom’s car already parked across the street, and when he unlocks the front door, he can hear her doing dishes in the kitchen, humming something off-key. 

“Hi, Benny,” his mom calls as Ben deposits his bag on the couch. “Give me two minutes to finish up in here and then we’ll go out for lunch to celebrate! You made it through junior year!”

“I thought you had to work today,” Ben says as he enters the kitchen. His mom grins at him over her shoulder, the dishes clearly almost done, only two more plates left in the sink. 

“We always get lunch on the last day of school,” she says as if it’s obvious, even though it isn’t often that Ben even sees her after school most days. She works three jobs right now, two full time and one part time, and now with Ben working full time this summer, that’s going to cut down their time together even more. “I had Dana cover my shift. I have to be at the hospital at four, but until then! Where do you wanna eat?”

“We don’t have to go out,” Ben shifts uncomfortably as he goes to sit at the kitchen table. “We can just have last night’s leftovers.”

His mom turns to frown at him, forehead creasing concernedly as she turns the sink off and removes her gloves. “What’s the matter, Benny?”

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Ben mutters, and he knows it’s petulant sounding enough that his mom won’t be fooled.

He’s right. Betty Arnold is nothing if not predictably wonderful, and she comes to sit next to Ben, takes hand and squeezes it very gently. 

“Alright, what is it?” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

“We don’t need to spend any extra money,” Ben mutters and his mom sits up straighter, eyes narrowing. 

“I know things are tight,” his mom says slowly. “But we can always afford to celebrate your successes, alright? And getting through another school year is a hell of a success, kid. C’mon, I guess I’m picking.”

“No,” Ben says, too quickly, and it sounds like a snap. His mom settles back into her seat, carefully examining Ben’s face but not saying anything, waiting for him to talk. She’s always been good about letting Ben come to her instead of the other way around.

And because Ben knows he can trust her, he finally relents and says, half under his breath out of shame, “I didn’t tell you this, but. The radio station told me I could be an intern there but they couldn’t pay me. I said no but - but it just sucks. It really sucks.”

“Oh, honey,” his mom reaches across the table to put an arm around him. “I’m so sorry. Did you talk to anybody about maybe getting alternative hours there? I mean, it’s radio, it goes all night long…”

“Somehow, those are the more popular shows so they’re more professional,” Ben says, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it. “It’s alright, Mom. I don’t mind, I - I just hope getting to go to college is worth it.”

“It will be,” she promises, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “I promise you’ll get to go, Ben. No matter how many loans we have to take out, you’re gonna get to go to college. We’ll get you the help you need.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Ben says softly, knowing that she can’t promise that but appreciating it all the same. 

“Don’t work too hard this summer, okay?” His mom smiles at him too gently as she lets go of him to ruffle his hair. Ben ducks, a little embarrassed at how nice the touch feels. “Spend some time with your friends, go out to parties, you know, high school stuff. Don’t grow up too fast.”

Ben nods, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. His mom’s not around enough on the weekends and evenings to know that Ben doesn’t have anyone who wants to spend time with him.  _ No Friends Ben.  _ It’s spray-painted on his locker. He had to beg the principal not to call his mom when it happened.

His mom’s sacrificed so much for him. Ben doesn’t want her to know what a failure he is. 

“I will, I promise,” Ben says, and his mom grins brightly at him. He doesn’t feel too bad about the lie. He’s protecting her from the parts of him that no one needs to see.

Ben already reports to work at six the next morning, Bill looking him over with an eye roll.

“Honestly, Benny, you can take a single day,” Bill says, a little exasperated but Ben knows that it’s the only way to stay in his good graces, that soon Ben will do something to piss him off and this will be forgotten. “Go get your apron, kid. Craig’s supposed to be in too but we’ll see if that happens.”

Ben doesn’t mind Craig, and lets out a sigh of relief.

“The other summer boys are Petey, you know him,” Bill ticks off on his hand as they move around one another to get ready for opening. 

“Unfortunately,” Ben mutters under his breath and Bill laughs.

“Oh, and Jacob. Do you know Jacob Williams?” Bill asks and Ben stares at him.

“The hell would you hire a Williams Boy for?” Ben asks him and Bill’s gaze gets a little sharper.

“No language in front of the customers,” Bill says. “And because I need the extra hands, Ben. Unless you wanna work overtime…”

“I can’t, can I?” Ben asks, looking out the window at the early morning sun rising over the mountaintops. He wishes he was outside instead of here. Maybe he’ll go on a hike after work. That’s something that might cheer him up. But he doesn’t have a car, so he can’t get to a trail. “I mean, I’m only sixteen.”

“Sixteen means you can work unlimited hours,” Bill reminds him. “Think about it, Benny. We could use the extra help, especially if you wanna see things done right around here. And you know Jacob Williams ain’t gonna do anything right.”

Ben knows it’s a guilt trip, and it makes him hesitate. But at the end of the day, it’s either the Bent and Dent or sitting at home in his room with bad Internet connection and X-Files reruns and wishing he was anyone but himself. At least here, he could make some money while he wished this wasn’t his life.

“Sure,” Ben agrees, but Bill’s smile doesn't make him feel any better. Ben knows perfectly well that he tries to hard to impress people he wants to like him, and he’ll let Bill talk him in to most things that he’s not comfortable with.

“You’re a good kid, Benny,” Bill says, and disappears into the back room when the cashier, Genevieve, shows up with a wave at the two of them.

“It’s Ben,” Ben corrects as he leaves, knowing perfectly well Bill can’t hear him, and even if he could, he wouldn’t listen anyway. 

* * *

 

**Minneapolis Minnesota, May 2005**

Jack’s throwing up in the bathroom by the time Sammy finds him. Even drunk to the point of no return, Jack still grins at Sammy, wide and bright, when Sammy lets himself into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jack says, sounding too put together for a guy with his head in the toilet. “Wow, do I regret doing this tonight.”

“You don’t sound hammered,” Sammy says as he lets himself slide down against the bathroom cupboard, sitting opposite Jack. Their bathroom in their house is tiny - the two of them share the smallest one in the house, in the basement, between their bedrooms. It’s worth it not to have to share with any of the other guys. At least Jack keeps things clean and doesn’t make Sammy break out in hives at the idea of sharing space with him.

“I’m not, I don’t think,” Jack says, and Sammy looks pointedly at the toilet. Jack flushes it, and wipes his mouth. “I just think my tolerance for alcohol is going down. Already getting older…”

“You graduated college less than twelve hours ago, drama queen,” Sammy rolls his eyes. “I don’t think aging happens  _ quite  _ that fast.”

“You don’t know,” Jack says, argumentative just for the sake of it, but his smile gives him away.

Jack leans away from the toilet and against the opposite wall so he and Sammy are facing each other, their long legs running parallel. It wouldn’t take much physical effort for Sammy to lock their legs together, but it would take more mental effort than he’s had in his life.

“We should’ve just done something tonight, the two of us,” Jack says, glaring at the ceiling where there bass is pounding above them. “It would’ve been more fun.”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, ignoring the pang in his chest. “I’d say we could do something tomorrow, but I mean, you’re literally leaving first thing in the morning…”

The smile doesn’t leave Jack’s face, which makes Sammy feel like shit for half a second before he realizes that the smile is more mischievous than anything.

“What?” Sammy asks, propping his elbows on his knees as he stares Jack down. Jack just laughs. “Seriously, what is it?”

Jack doesn’t quite look at Sammy, though the smile still stays fixed to his face, as he says “Well, I might’ve pushed my flight to next weekend.”

Sammy blinks at him, not quite believing him for a second, but then Jack’s grin grows even wider and something expands in Sammy’s chest. “Really?”

“Really,” Jack says, eyes crinkling around the edges in the way that Sammy never fails to notice. 

“I thought you needed time to move before your internship started,” Sammy says, because if he doesn’t question the logistics, something sappy is going to come out his mouth that he can’t take back. 

Jack shrugs. “I can move in a day, it’s no big deal. And my parents will help me - a bonus of getting an internship back home.”

Sammy bites his lip, tries not to think about how Jack had spent the last two summers here, and pointedly doesn’t wonder what’s changed. He knows, on the surface, what’s changed - they graduated. They need to start thinking about their careers, their futures, and a job in Pasadena is probably going to get Jack more industry credibility than a job in Minneapolis. 

A job in Minneapolis would help with connections here, but if Jack isn’t going to come back here, that’s not an issue. 

“Do you still have things to do here, or…?” Sammy asks, because he doesn’t want to make any assumptions, and Jack immediately kicks his leg. 

“Hang out with you for a week free from school and finals and work,” Jack says like it’s obvious, rolling his eyes. “You don’t start your internship ‘til the twenty-first, right? So we have plenty of time.”

“Well, it means our last hurrah isn’t going to be an awful house party, at the very least,” Sammy jokes so he doesn’t have to say anything more serious, and they both glare up at the ceiling where music is still pumping.

“We’re never getting to sleep tonight,” Jack sighs and Sammy hums in agreement. “Ricky said that his roommates are chill, so hopefully I’ll have to put up with less shit when I get down there.”

Sammy picks at the bathroom rug, spinning it around one of his fingers. Jack’s moving in with a friend of his from high school, a friend Sammy doesn’t know, a friend that isn’t Sammy, which really is the root of Sammy’s issue here.

“Well, Brad found a girl to sublet your room,” Sammy says, faux-shuddering. “I feel bad for her already, he’s gonna hit on her at any opportunity. Wish I was getting out of here, too.”

“Only three more months,” Jack says softly, and then quickly adds after a breath, “on your lease here, and then you can get out of Como and into a neighborhood with less obnoxious college bros and their nightly ragers.”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, knowing that wherever he goes, he’ll have to live with roommates, and if Jack isn’t coming back to Minnesota, none of them will be Jack. Which means he already knows they’ll pale in comparison. 

“So what do you wanna do this week?” Jack says, obviously ready for a change in subject, as he grins and nudges Sammy’s foot with his own. “It’s my last week in Minnesota, so we better make it great. And the first step of making anything great is that we don’t hang out with any of our annoying as shit roommates.”

“Do you have to take your mom and dad to the airport in the morning?” Sammy asks and Jack nods.

“Yeah, my mom’s kinda pissed that I changed my flight date, but whatever,” Jack shrugs. “I’ll see her plenty this summer.” 

_ And you won’t see me, _ Sammy can’t help but think, even as he tries valiantly to shut that part of his brain off. “Well, what kinda stuff do you wanna do? Tourist shit? Stuff on campus?”

“Let’s go up north,” Jack says like he’s already thought about it, and Sammy stifles a groan. A fake groan, one that Jack will easily recognize as Sammy’s  _ don’t make me go outdoors  _ groan. “C’mon, it’ll be on me - we’ll get a campsite, go hiking…”

“Kill your best friend by making him sleep on the ground…” Sammy says, trying to hide his grin. Jack had never been camping before he’d moved here, and Sammy very much regrets taking him camping to impress him back when they were freshmen. Well, no he doesn’t, he doesn’t regret anything with Jack, not really, even if he sometimes has to convince himself he does.

Still. Sammy and camping have never gotten along, and Sammy’s going to end up mosquito-bitten and with a sore neck.

But he can’t deny that a week up north with Jack sounds perfect. Even if that perfection makes his chest hurt since he knows he’s not going to get that feeling anytime again in the near future. 

“Will you, though?” Jack asks, and he already knows the answer. Sammy can’t say no to Jack, especially when he only has one more week with him. Maybe forever.

Sammy has to block that thought out, the ramifications making him feel like he might need to take over Jack’s spot of having his head in the toilet, and tells Jack, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

Sammy suffers through an awkward morning of getting breakfast with Jack’s parents, as Jack insisted that Sammy come along. Jack’s father ignores him while Sammy withers under the glare of Jack’s mother. He isn’t sure which is worse. 

He stays in the car when Jack drops them off at the airport, and when Jack gets back it’s with a long, low sigh and a roll of his eyes as if to say that he knows, and he’s sorry he put Sammy through that. 

Still, Sammy thinks it’s alright - if Jack wants him along for stuff with his parents, maybe that means that Jack’s not planning on saying a permanent goodbye at the end of the week. 

“It’s a shame you can’t experience a Minnesota winter one last time,” Sammy hides a smile when they get back to their house and Jack’s piling camping stuff in the backseat of Sammy’s car. He’d borrowed a bunch of stuff from their roommates, as Sammy certainly didn’t come prepared with a tent and sleeping bag. But some of it was Jack’s that Sammy would probably inherit since Jack wouldn’t take it on the plane with him. Los Angeles wasn’t exactly outdoorsy.

“Fuck off,” Jack snipes as he throws more shit in the trunk, and Sammy laughs at the picture in his head of Jack seeing snow for the first time, giddy and excited at eighteen years old, while Sammy cursed at the sky for starting winter in October that year. “Winter and I came to an uneasy truce after four long years together.”

“What are the terms of that truce?” Sammy teases, moving around the car to help Jack cram shit in. Sammy had an extremely old and crappy Mazda that didn’t exactly have much room for camping supplies. “You leave for California four years later never to return and it doesn’t murder you?”

He doesn’t look at Jack when he says it. 

“Something like that,” Jack says, a strange, quiet quality to his voice that Sammy can’t quite read. Together, they slam the trunk down.

Sammy lets Jack drive out of the city, thinking of how paranoid he’d been about Jack driving his car even two years ago. Now Sammy was more than happy to drift in and out of sleep while Jack messed with the dials on the radio and made intelligent-sounding comments about sound quality that Sammy just hummed along with. 

Jack finds a campground that’s not booked up on the north shore, and Sammy lets him deal with paying while he wanders around the camp store, filling up his thermos with the free coffee they provide and grabbing a pack of marshmallows, the only good thing about camping as far as Sammy’s concerned. 

“Hey, you ready?” Jack waves Sammy over to the front desk. “I bought firewood already.”

“I’ll cover the marshmallow tab, then,” Sammy says, rolling his eyes and getting out his wallet. 

“Sorry if I dragged you from anything you had going on this weekend,” Jack says suddenly when they get out the doorway and start walking back to their car. Jack has a map of the campsite in one hand, and he isn’t quite looking at Sammy. “I changed my flight last minute, but I should’ve…”

“Dude, shut up, my week would’ve been boring,” Sammy rolls his eyes. “School’s done, MPR doesn’t start til Monday, and it’s not like I’m gonna go home for the week. The only thing you dragged me away from is Mario Kart. I mean, you’ve dragged me into the middle of the woods, where bears are going to eat us, so maybe I should be pissed at you ..."

Jack laughs, looking a little more carefree after that as they drive up to the far corner of the campsite.

Sammy, truth be told, would’ve spent the week in misery and adjusting the concept of being  _ without Jack,  _ a horrible state that Sammy only truly experienced once before, two summers ago. Christmas break wasn’t long enough to count. But Sammy was never one for truth-telling.

Sammy almost curses himself for never putting any effort into friendships outside of Jack - sure, there were people he could talk to, or go to parties with, or get a coffee with, but no one like Jack. But then again, Sammy didn’t think there could be anyone like Jack even if he’d put twenty times the work in. 

The thought has to be pushed out of his head Jack forces him to help set up their tent and Sammy fucks it up at every turn. It’s worth it for Jack to help him, rolling his eyes and smiling all the while. Sammy can’t help but think  _ this is the last time you’re ever gonna see him, at least like this _ .

He refrains from bringing it up until the sun’s gone down, Jack’s gotten a fire going that Sammy didn’t even kind of help with, and they’ve both had more than one s’more.

Jack’s laughing, wiping his burnt-marshmallow covered hands on his jeans, and the world seems so perfect in that moment that Sammy can’t help but ruin it.

“You think you’ll stay in LA after your internship is done?”

Sammy hates himself for asking, and can’t help but notice the slightest change in Jack’s expression, illuminated by firelight. 

“I don’t know,” Jack says quietly, looking at the fire and not Sammy. “I guess it depends on who wants to hire me.”

He shrugs, self-deprecating, and Sammy hopes that that means he’s going to change the subject, but in the next second, Jack says “Do you think you’ll stay in Minneapolis after this summer?”

Sammy looks at his hands. “Well. I’m sure as hell not going back to Wisconsin.”

They both chuckle, but Sammy knows that Jack knows that this conversation is at least somewhat important.

“Well, it’ll be nice to be around family again, I guess,” Jack says, and Sammy reaches for more another marshmallow so it doesn’t look like he’s desperately clinging onto every word Jack’s saying. “But Lily’s in Chicago, and it’s most important to me to stay close to her.”

Sammy nods. Jack’s sister is an utterly terrifying human being who thinks of Sammy as a particularly annoying gnat, but Jack loves her more than anything, even if he has trouble showing it to her face. 

“Lily likes Chicago a lot,” Jack says quietly, and then before Sammy can reply, he quickly says, “but it would be cool to live on the east coast. I mean, everyone dreams about ending up in New York City, right?”

“Alright, Los Angeles guy, don’t even start,” Sammy is relieved to find that he’s still got some jokes left to deflect from his real feelings. “You’re co-opting Midwest culture there. Just because you’ve lived here for four years doesn’t mean you’re one of us.”

“Remember when we met in class and I said I was from California and you looked at me like I grew another head?” Jack laughs, and even in the darkness, the fire lights up the crinkles around his eyes. 

“Cause no one from California should ever want to come to school  _ here _ ,” Sammy justifies himself, sticking by his guns. He still doesn’t understand how Jack ended up here -  _ there’s a great journalism school here, Sammy! Sure Jack, whatever you say, is it worth the eight months of snow? -  _ and thinks the universe probably played a cruel prank on him by letting Jack Wright into his life by random chance, and would probably snatch him up again any instant.

“I liked it here,” Jack declares as if it’s the final say on the matter. And really, it is, he’s leaving in five days. “I’m glad I came here. Maybe I’ll come back. I mean - you’re here, if nothing else.”

Sammy can’t look at him, can’t reply, it feels too much like a closing of a chapter, or maybe a whole book, and hearing Jack say that he’d come back to see Sammy feels wonderful and painful all at once. 

“But Cali’s home,” Jack says, a little softer. “I’m glad I’m going back, even if it is just for the summer. Don’t know where I’ll end up, but I guess I know I can always go back there.”

“Well, those of us from Sconnyville can’t relate,” Sammy kicks half-heartedly at Jack’s foot that’s closest to him. "And ...for what it’s worth...I’m glad you came here, too. If only to see you absolutely incapable of walking to class in a blizzard.”

“No one should!” Jack insists. The conversation shifts from there, to more comfortable topics that make it easier for Sammy to breathe. 

The week goes too fast, but Sammy knew it would. Four years went too fast. It feels like he and Jack should still be eighteen and copying each other’s notes while they sit on Sammy’s crappy dorm room bed and make fun of his perpetually sloppy roommate. They shouldn’t be adults entering the workforce on different sides of the country.

Sammy drives Jack to the airport, and unlike when they’d dropped Jack’s parents off, Sammy pays to park without saying anything, and walks in with Jack. He would usually be paranoid about how any gesture he made toward Jack was received, but if this was the end, then Sammy couldn’t bring himself to overanalyze everything. 

He didn’t want it to be the end, but Sammy wasn’t stupid. You didn’t make major life decisions based on your best friend. You just - didn’t. It wasn’t something adult men with real lives and real jobs took into consideration. 

No matter how much Sammy wanted to quit his internship last minute, give up all his belongings, and buy a ticket to Los Angeles here and now.

He and Jack hang out, and it’s like it always is, talking and laughing and joking and skirting around the topic of  _ goodbye.  _ They’re early, so Jack puts off getting into the security line so they can get coffee together, sit in a booth and pretend like they’re on campus. 

“Well, we live in a post 9/11 world, otherwise I’d say you should wait at the gate with me,” Jack shrugs, so casual Sammy knows he has to be pretending, as they stand at the start of the security line. “I hope MPR’s amazing.”

“I hope California’s amazing,” Sammy says, not meaning it in his mind, but it becomes true when he says it out loud. He wants Jack to be amazing in general, whether Sammy’s around to see it or not. Jack’s the best guy he knows. 

They stand awkwardly shifting, not quite looking at each other, but only for two seconds before Jack leans in to hug him. Sammy doesn’t think about how it looks, and puts his arms around Jack and wishes time could stop. 

“I’ll miss you,” Sammy says without meaning to, the words spilling out of him because what if this really is the last time he ever sees Jack? He knows, logically, that he’ll certainly  _ see  _ Jack again, but what if it’s in three years and they’ve both changed so much they’re unrecognizable? What if Jack’s introducing Sammy to his girlfriend then? What if the next time hears from him is an invitation to Jack’s wedding?

They’ll see each other again, but Sammy doesn’t know if it’ll be as best friends who know each other inside and out, or as perfect strangers who just happened to cross paths for four years. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” Jack says, and he sounds just close enough to choked up that it makes Sammy start to wobble, and he holds onto Jack for longer so that Jack doesn’t have to see his face.

“I’ll call you,” Jack says when he lets go, and Sammy already misses the contact. “I’ll call you once I’m moved in and work’s started. We both have the same first day, so - so you can tell me about MPR.”

“Okay,” Sammy says, glad of something to look forward to, no matter how small. “Good.”

“We can talk when we’re not too busy,” Jack says. “Call whenever you can, alright? The time difference is only two hours, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

“Right,” Sammy says, forcing a smile, already seeing a future of missed calls and voicemail messages. “I - I guess you’d better get going, then.”

“Yeah, I - I guess,” Jack says, looking behind him at the security line that’s grown since the two of them had approached it only minutes before. “Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone, alright?”

“You’re the crazy one here, not me,” Sammy reminds him and Jack grins. “Take care of yourself. Call - call when you can.”

Sammy stutters when he tries to speak again, and goes silent instead of continues. He’s not going to get out any of the words floating around in his head, and Jack leans in to hug him one more time before he gets in line.

Sammy can’t stay  _ please don’t go  _ any more than he can say  _ please come back _ . Any more than he can say  _ I love you. _


	2. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm halfway through writing the next chapter, hopefully should be here on Friday. Hope you like this one! I cried writing it because I'm projecting uh....high school onto Ben. Thanks for reading!

**King Falls Colorado, June 2016**

“Welcome back to King Falls AM, that’s 660 on the radio dial. You’re here tonight with Sammy Stevens. Ben’s feeling a little under the weather, so unless something changes, you’ll just be chatting with me tonight. But that’s all fine and dandy, folks, I love getting to catch up with everyone. Let’s -”

“Don’t worry - I’m here.”

“Ben, you can stay in the break room. It’s absolutely fine, I can handle the last two hours -”

“No, no, I think I’ll stay. Better if I just stay.”

“ - You don’t have to. I know you’re feeling - not the best.”

“ _Under the weather._ Right.”

“Well, I mean, you are -”

“Breaking apart at the seams, yeah, I got it. Got what you were saying. Loud and clear. You can tell everyone that I’m so fucked up I can’t handle broadcasting tonight. Or handle bleeping my own goddamn self when I swear live on the radio.”

“ _Ben_.”

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine. I’m over it. Look, you can see my hand. It’s not shaking anymore. I had a candy bar. Blood sugar has probably just gone back to normal.”

“I don’t think that’s how blood sugar works.”

“Of course that’s what you latch onto. _Dad_.”

“It’s important! Seriously Ben, just go home, it’ll be fine…”

“That’s not gonna help anyone. I’d rather be on the air. Talking to you lovely listeners this evening. Oh, so happy to be here.”

“You can be less sarcastic.”

“Rich, coming from you.”

“Alright, well, you heard the man, folks. We’ll _both_ be taking your calls on this evening, though if any friends of the show whose name rhymes with Retty Rarnold wants to call in and add a Mom Voice of Reason to the evening, far be it from me to discourage that.”

“Dude, I appreciate the concern, but really. I’m fine.”

“That’s why your hand has started shaking again, I assume.”

“It hasn’t - oh. Damn. I - uh, it’s fine. It’s good, I’m just. It’s good. Don’t worry about it.”

“Folks, I’m gonna put on a commercial -”

“We just came back from commercial. Honestly Sammy, don’t worry about me, this is hardly the most pressing -”

“Right now? At this very moment? _Of course_ it’s the most pressing. Let’s get you some water - _not more coffee -_ maybe some tea if we have any….”

“That’s very Mom Voice of Reason of you.”

“Well, you need it right now.”

“I really, _really_ don’t. Everyone’s being far too concerned about me right now and not concerned enough about -”

“Ben, please.”

“My point stands.”

“You’re here. I can take care of you. I can’t take care of people who aren’t here, but you’re sitting in front of me shaking and breaking down, and I can make you a cup of tea. Don’t try to argue with me.”

“I just, I just need to find her, she’s all I have, I have to -”

“Ben. She’s not all you have. You’re not alone here. You’ve got friends and family who are trying to help you. Stop turning down the help. You’re never going to find her if you don’t take care of yourself first. I’m making you some tea. Talk to the listeners. Take a call. Dump anyone you don’t want to talk to.”

“I’m getting permission from _you_ to dump callers?”

“Tonight and tonight only. Dump whoever you want. Find someone you want to talk to. Someone kind. I’m going to make you tea.”

“...with honey, please.”

“...Okay.”

**King Falls Colorado, June 2005**

“Yeah, yeah, Doyle’s throwing a party out at his new place in Hollybrook. I hear it’s gonna be insane like, super crazy, apparently Dixon’s inviting a bunch of girls from the community college -”

“Does Dixon really have that kind of game, though?”

“Oh, the girls _fall over_ themselves for Dixon, he’s like a fuckin’ magnet or something...”

Ben looks up from fitting all of Sheila’s toaster strudels into one bag - she buys them in bulk - when he hears Craig swear. He half-looks at Bill, but Bill hasn’t noticed, chatting with Sheila, the most regular of regulars, in Ben’s lane.

He’s bagging in Bill’s lane, and Craig and Pete are in the one next to them. They’re the only two lanes open during the early morning since it’s never that busy. Craig and Pete gossip when there’s no one in line, and Ben stands around awkwardly and isn’t involved in the conversation.

It’s alright. Bill’s offered to put him in Craig’s lane before instead but Ben would rather not. At least from several feet away, he can pretend he’s not being purposefully being discluded even though that’s certainly what’s happening.

“Anyway, basically everyone’s gonna be there,” Craig’s saying to Pete, leaning over the barrier between them as if they’re sharing a secret. Craig graduated from King Falls High two years ago and obviously nothing much had happened to him since, but he had been at least tangentially connected to Doyle and Chicken Foot Dixon, which made him still somehow one of the _cool guys_ in town even though they were all well out of high school.

“Well hey there, Benny, you still working in this old place?”

Ben blinks up at Archie Simmons, the kindly man who runs the Pomchi Palace. He’d taken a liking to Ben when Ben had dragged his mother to the Palace to beg and plead his mother for a dog after the sugar glider fiasco in middle school. His mom had ruffled his hair and told him _sorry, buddy, but I don’t think we can swing that right now._

Archie told Ben he could come by and play with the dogs anytime, and though Ben hadn’t been out to the Palace in awhile, he knew the offer still stood. Most of the town thought Archie was odd, but Ben always appreciated how kind Archie was, even if he was a terrible gossip sometimes.

“Hey Archie,” Ben says as Bill pushes Archie’s groceries toward him. He starts bagging a truly obscene amount of dog food. “How are the puppies doing?”

“Oh, they’re splendid, just got a new litter two weeks ago, which is why I need to stock up on so much,” Archie laughs, and Ben makes a show of his arm being sore from hauling the dog food. “And I got a new pup for myself, too! It’s been so lonely since Abigail left, so I got Rufus! He’s a Labradoodle. Figured I needed a change of pace!”

“Oh, wow, congratulations!" Ben says. He still wants a dog, all these years later, but he knows perfectly well he’s not getting one anytime soon.

“You’ll have to come and see him while he’s still a tiny pup,” Archie says as Ben starts handing him his full bags.

“I’ll do that, Archie,” Ben promises, thinking that maybe he can talk his mom into letting him borrow the car this weekend if she’s not working on Sunday morning. It’s not likely, but it’s possible.

“You’re a good kiddo, Benny, I’m sure I’ll see you next time I’m in!” Archie waves as Ben finishes loading the last of the bags into his cart. Ben waves back, glad that someone could distract him from -

“God, what a fag.”

Ben knows Pete’s watching Archie leave, and something horrible and sick twists in his stomach.

“Shut the fuck up, Pete,” Ben says across the aisle, only sounding half as angry as he feels. Archie doesn’t deserve shit from seventeen year old douchebags like Pete fucking Meyers.

“Ben!” Bill says sharply, moving to hit the back of Ben’s head. Ben winces and Pete laughs at him, and flips him off when Bill’s attention is distracted. “Language! We have customers, you insolent little -”

“Oh, don’t worry about Benny, I’ve said far worse,” the woman in line next says, her laugh light and tittering as she winks at Ben. It’s Esther Rawlins, Mr. Sheffield’s friend. Not his wife, who divorced him years ago, but a lady friend who’s clearly something more. “And don’t you dare hit him again, Bill Shapiro, or there’ll be hell to pay from me.”

“Sorry, Esther,” Bill at least has the decency to look ashamed, but Pete’s laughing behind Esther’s back.

“Now Benny, Cecil says you do so well in his class at school,” Esther reaches across the divider to clasp Ben’s hand. She’s very affectionate, probably over eighty by now, but Ben doesn’t mind the cheek-pinching from her. She’s earned the right to pinch however many cheeks she wants. “I thought maybe you’d come up to work at the radio station this summer! I just started my own show there. Maybe if you start now, someday you could have your own show, too!”

“I don’t think I have half the personality you do, though,” Ben teases, but the thought sticks in his head. His own show. It’s a dream, a dream to hold onto even though he knows it’ll never happen, not really. “I hear you’re being marketed as King Falls’ most bitchin’ granny.”

“You’ve listened!” Esther lets go of Ben to clap her hands together delightedly and Ben laughs, using his newly freed hands to actually bag up all of Esther’s groceries, which contain mostly bread and cat food. “You know I’d love to have you come help me if you ever have the time, but if you’re too busy for evenings, I know Laura’s looking for some help with Chet’s show.”

“Chet?” Ben asks, not sure that he’s heard the name before. He doesn’t listen to King Falls AM a lot; he doesn’t have a car, or else he would listen while he drove. But he still puts on Esther’s show when he’s not working because she’s so sweet and funny.

“Chet Sebastian, he’s on from ten to two,” Esther says, scrunching up her face like she can’t quite remember exactly. “Laura’s his producer, and she says Chet’s a real handful. She’s been looking for help. I’m going to give her your phone number, Benny. Will you write it down for me? I’m sure Cecil has it, but I’m liable to forget unless I have it right with me…”

“Ben already has a job,” Bill says over Ben’s shoulder, but Esther’s already pulling a pen out of her purse.

“Thanks, Esther,” Ben says in a small voice as he puts down his home phone number. “I don’t have a cell…”

“Oh, me neither,” Esther waves her hand. “I can’t work the damn buttons. But I’ll pass this on to Laura, mmkay? You’re such a good boy, Benny, you should get some opportunities early on!”

“Yeah, _Benny_ ,” Pete calls across the aisle as soon as Esther’s out the front door. “Opportunities for ya’, Benny! I guess that old lady is the only girl who’ll ever want you. Beggars can’t be choosers...”

“Pete!”

At least Bill isn’t selectively hearing the insults this time as he glares at Pete, who shrinks under the gaze but only slightly.

“Hope you’re not thinking about leaving us for the radio station,” Bill turns back to Ben with a roll of his eyes like it’s ridiculous. And it is, Ben supposes.

“Course not,” he says softly, straightening his work apron.

He isn’t expecting anything to come from it, but three days later, he picks up the phone to a woman saying “Hi, is this Ben Arnold?”

“Um, yes,” Ben says, suddenly anxious. He’d been making himself dinner after work even though he wasn’t hungry, and now food is the furthest thing from his mind. He goes to sit on the couch, and pulls his knees up to his chest where he rests his chin. “Who is this?”

“This is Laura Jones, I work for King Falls AM,” she says, and the bottom drops out of Ben’s stomach. “I produce Chet’s Jazz Corner. I got your number from Esther Rawlins who works here at the station, she says you’re a high school student interested in working in media?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Ben says, trying to disguise how short of breath he is. “It’s so nice to hear from you, Ms. Jones.”

“Oh, call me Laura,” she says. “How much do you know about producing for radio, Ben?”

“I - not a lot,” Ben says, blush creeping on his cheeks even though he’s alone. “But I want to learn.”

“That’s all I want to hear,” Laura says, her voice reassuring. “How old are you, Ben?”

“Sixteen,” Ben says, then quickly adds, “but I’ll be seventeen in August.”

“Would your parents be alright if you came out to the radio station a couple nights a week?” Laura asks. “I can show you the ropes of what being a producer is like, and maybe you can help me run the board once you’re comfortable. The station can’t hire anyone right now, but you’re more than welcome to come out to learn. Esther says that she’d love to have you for her show but you work during the day, is that right?”

“Yeah, I do, and I, I don’t have a car,” Ben says, stomach dropping. “If that’s a dealbreaker. But my mom would be fine with me coming to the station.”

“If she’s fine with me giving you a ride, I’d be more than happy to,” Laura says. “Though I’d probably want to meet her first to make sure she’s really okay with it. King Falls doesn’t have a lot of opportunities for high schoolers, and I would appreciate the extra help. I’d really love it if you wanted to come visit, at the very least.”

“My mom’s really busy, but I could give her your phone number?” Ben holds his breath. This seems like such a surreal dream, nothing ever works out for him like this.

It’s only a week later, after Laura and his mom talk and Ben lets Laura know which days he doesn’t have to work nights at the Bent and Dent - his schedule there changes every week - when Laura picks him up in the parking lot and he gets to go up the mountain to the radio station.

Laura is about thirty, with two kids in the elementary school in King Falls, and asks Ben questions about his life and school that are kind and curious and not too invasive.

The station is small and buried up in the mountains; someone else might call it ratty, but it looks perfect to Ben. Anything is better than the parking lot of the Bent and Dent, sterile and disgusting all at once.

“Alright, so I have to warn you,” Laura says with an apologetic smile. “Chet’s a nice guy, but he’s a bit... _much_ to get used to. I told him to tone it down tonight since you’ll be there, but Chet’s not great at taking direction. I promise he’s fine once you get used to him.”

“Okay,” Ben says, thinking Chet could have two heads and he probably wouldn’t ask any questions.

They make their way into the studio, a cozy room with old furniture and appliances, and a small booth with an _on air_ sign on one side of the room. A man stands up languidly from the only couch in the room; he’s tall and dark and wearing a moth-eaten suit reminiscent of the seventies.

“Hey there, brother,” the man winks at him. “You must be Benny Arnold. I’m Chet Sebastian, host of Chet’s Jazz Corner. Pleased to meet you.”

“You too, sir,” Ben says and Chet laughs, long and low.

“Sir? Oh, Laura, I like this boy,” Chet smiles, and Ben isn’t sure if he’s made uncomfortable by it or not. Still, he trusts Laura’s judgment and just straightens his shoulders.

Chet’s weird, Ben learns, and a little too sexual, though Laura threatens to hit him with a book every time his innuendo slips into anything more explicit. Chet just winks at Ben as if to say _ladies, huh_? which Ben isn’t terribly comfortable with, but he seems mostly harmless and not at all sexual with Laura herself.

Chet seems to take a liking to him, and is calling him _Benny-Cat_ by the end of the show. It’s a dumb nickname and Ben hopes to God no one he goes to school with is listening so they can spray that on his locker next year, but he’s glad that Chet likes him enough to give him a nickname.

Ben watches attentively to how Laura works the board, and by the end of the night, she’s promised to show him how to cut ads together.

He starts off going to the radio station twice a week, but he likes what he’s doing so much and he’s learning so fast that Laura offers to have him come out another night to help actually work the board. Soon, he’s patching callers through for her.

As much as Ben loves the late nights at the station, he knows it’s taking a toll. He ignores it most of the time, because he justifies that it’s not the radio station that’s the problem, it’s the hellish fifty to sixty hours he spends at the Bent and Dent every week.

Bill is around less and less, which means the other boys can get away with worse. If Carrie’s working, she’ll put a stop to it, but there’s not much that can help when Ben’s working with Pete, Craig, and the reinstated Jacob Williams, who was rehired despite Ben’s fervent protests.

Ben’s never been very good at sleeping, but it gets worse. Sometimes he doesn’t get home until two-thirty in the morning, and then has to work again at six. His mom would probably be concerned if she knew, but it’s not like she’s around enough at the same time as him to realize anything’s the matter.

Ben wishes he spent every night up the mountain with Laura and Chet though, so he can’t quit. He sometimes tentatively asks Bill to schedule him for fewer hours, but it never works. Ben will get the next week’s schedule and he’ll be scheduled even more, with worse people.

He isn’t sure when he stops eating. He’s never eaten at work - he’s too anxious and high strung there, and knowing his coworkers, they’d think it was funny if his lunch was stolen. But even when he gets home, all he’ll eat is half a banana or a pop tart before he starts feeling nauseous.

So he stops eating, mainly just drinks coffee the nights he’s at the station, gets something from the vending machine if he has to, or tries to eat with his mom if they happen to both be home during mealtime.

He doesn’t really think it’s a problem until the shaking starts, but vending machine food is more than enough to stop any problem from being visible to others, at the very least.

Until one night at the Bent and Dent when it’s just him, Bill, and Pete. They’ve closed down for the night, they’re scrubbing everything clean, and Bill’s stepped outside for a smoke.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Pete wrenches the mop out of Ben’s hands and the momentum is enough for Ben to fall flat on his face on the wet floor.

“Ow,” Ben says wearily, trying to push himself to his feet, not even having enough energy to say or do anything else, he feels so sick.

“Shit, Arnold,” Pete laughs at him. “You high or something? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m not high,” Ben sais as he stands unsteadily, reaching his hand out for the mop but Pete won’t give to him.

“Nice fall, I don’t think you bruised anything! Guess you do have a talent after all - falling!” Pete says, raking his eyes up and down Ben. “Didn’t even break your glasses!”

Ben reaches up to push his glasses up on his nose, but the second he lets go, Pete’s reaching out for them. Ben paws at his hands but it doesn’t work. Pete’s got a hold of his glasses, laughing at them like they’re some massive joke.

“What are these things made of? Steel bars?” Pete waves them around, and Ben fruitlessly tries to bat at him, but he keeps moving.

“Pete, please give me my glasses back,” Ben says, too tired and nauseous to try to fight him over it.

“What, Velma, you can’t see without your glasses?” Pete taunts, and that’s when the glasses slip out of his hands and onto the wet floor.

They break on the spot.

Ben stares down at the ground, not able to react.

“Shit, Benny, sorry,” Pete says, not sounding so even in the slightest. Ben can’t look at him. He gets on his knees and picks up the two severed pieces. “Don’t tell Bill, alright?”

Ben laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do right now, and he’s aware that he sounds a bit like he’s breaking. When he stands, he brushes past Pete without looking at him again, into the back room and out the side door of the store.

“What’s the matter?” Bill looks up from his cigarette when Ben stops short in front of him.

“I quit,” Ben says simply, letting the glasses in his hands speak for themselves. “You can send me last paycheck.”

“Ben -” Bill starts, sharp, but not quite angry. Not yet. Ben won’t give him time to finish, though, and starts on his walk home twenty minutes early.

He isn’t sure when he starts crying, but he’s certainly crying when he gets home. He wishes his mom was there, but he’s alone. He feels too sick to eat, even though he knows he needs it.

Instead, he curls up on the couch and sobs, and isn’t sure when his mom gets home. All he knows is that one second he’s alone and then his mom’s there hugging him and stroking his hair and telling him it’s okay in a hushed voice.

“Can I get contacts?” is the first thing Ben asks when he’s aware enough to start talking.

His mom doesn’t even ask why, just nods at him. “Of course you can, Ben.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, wiping at his eyes. “I - I quit the Bent and Dent, it was just - God, Mom, I’m so sorry, I can ask for my job back tomorrow -”

“No way,” his mom says firmly. “I know you, Ben. You wouldn’t have quit without a reason.”

“The reason is that I suck at everything and no one likes me and Pete’s a dick,” Ben starts blubbering. “I never sleep, I never eat, the radio station is the only good thing in my life -”

“Oh, Ben,” his mom crumples, just slightly, and rocks him toward her. He lets her treat him like a little kid, because he just wants someone real to hold onto right now, someone who loves him. His mom is the only person in the world who loves him. “You don’t suck at everything. There are other jobs out there. You don’t even have to get one if you don’t want to.”

“I have to,” Ben says, not letting his mom or his mental state talk him out of this one, “I have to.”

“After you start eating and sleeping, then we’ll talk about it,” his mom says, stroking his hair back out of his face. “I - maybe you can talk to the school guidance counselor. I’m sure she does summer sessions.”

“No, no, I don’t need -” Ben says but his mom hushes him.

“You need to relax,” his mom says quietly. “You need to get to sleep and everything’s gonna look better in the morning. I’ll take the day off - the whole day - and we’ll talk through everything, like we did when you were little. Okay? Can we do that?”

Ben wishes he could say no, that he was okay, but he knows his mom will stay home no matter what. Because she’s a much better mom than he deserves; his mom should have a son who’s better than him. “Okay, Mom. Okay.”

**Minneapolis Minnesota, June 2005**

Sammy isn’t sure when he made the decision to start smoking again.

He remembers getting groceries after work on Friday, and then he’s standing in the parking lot next to his car with a lit cigarette in front of him.

And after that there’s a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and Sammy clearly spent the money on them so he shouldn’t waste it, should he? He’ll just finish the pack and then be done with it.

Until grocery shopping two weeks later when he gets another pack.

 _You’ll ruin your radio voice,_ Jack would say as he snatched the pack away and waved it above Sammy’s head and Sammy wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of jumping for it.

So he’d quit.

Sammy had really only done smoked regularly for his last year of high school, when his parents weren’t talking to him and he had no friends to speak of and just wanted to do something even if it was pointless and self-destructive. But Jack wouldn’t stand next to Sammy if he’d been smoking, and wanting to be close to him had overridden the impulse for nicotine.

It’s fucking horrible, how Sammy can’t cope without Jack. At least if Sammy didn’t care about anybody, shit like this wouldn’t hurt so much.

But if it’s just smoking, it’ll be fine. Sammy still shows up to work every day, gets praised for what he does even if the scope of his job isn’t exactly far-reaching. He’s only a step above running out to get everyone coffees, but that’s better than his last job so he doesn't complain. He still goes out with his roommates and other friends occasionally, and has gotten drinks with the other interns more than once.

He and Jack have spoken four times in the month since Jack left. Jack likes his job - he’s at a small media company two steps above running to get coffee - and he likes his roommates, and it seems like he’s fit right back into his old life from before he met Sammy.

Jack did say he missed him though, that no one was quite as fun to bitch about his day with. So that’s what they do on the phone, when they have time, and don’t talk about the miles between them.

Sammy makes himself hang up after an hour every time, because he knows if he lets himself, he’ll stay on the phone with Jack all night long.

The fifth time Jack calls, Sammy goes out to sit in the backyard of his tiny house, the weather too nice to stay in the basement, and smokes a cigarette while Jack talks about getting to be in the room during a board meeting.

“That the sound of a lighter?” Jack’s voice crackles through the line, half amused and half annoyed and Sammy winces, feeling too guilty to take a drag now.

“Maybe,” Sammy says, knowing denying it isn’t going to do him any good.

Jack sighs. “I’d steal it if I were there. Throw it over the fence and let the neighbors take it.”

“Good thing you’re not here, then,” Sammy says, putting too much gusto into his voice, and Jack sighs again.

“Don’t be stupid, Sammy,” Jack says, because they’ve had this conversation a million times before. “I thought you were done with smoking.”

“Just stressed is all,” Sammy says, half the truth. “I’ll quit again.”

“By the time I see you again, you better not smell like smoke,” Jack says, threatening, and something hurts in Sammy’s chest. “That’s all I’m saying about it.”

“Thanks for the input,” Sammy says, half-smiling, the cigarette burning without him having smoked it yet. He won’t smoke this one. “Appreciate it.”

Jack had smoked with him only once, coughed for a solid ten minutes afterwards, and told Sammy it was fucking disgusting. Sammy thinks that might’ve been the last cigarette he has smoked until now.

He checks the time on his watch. He’s been talking to Jack for fifty minutes, and now is as good a time as any to say “Hey, I’ve gotta get going. I think Angie wants us to go out tonight.”

“Okay,” Jack says, and Sammy knows he’s projecting his own disappointment, and that Jack is probably ready to be off the line. “I’ll call you...next Sunday night? I’m working a festival that weekend so I’ll be pretty busy up until then.”

“Make it Monday,” Sammy says for absolutely no reason at all other than that he hates himself. “I think I’ve got a work thing on Sunday.”

“Alright, talk to you then,” Jack says. “Don’t you dare be fucking smoking then.”

Jack’s the one who hangs up.

Sammy stares at the phone before he pockets it. He doesn’t light another cigarette.

He’s been staring into space in the backyard for less than a minute before Brad opens the back door and sticks his head off.

“You off the phone?” Brad asks and Sammy nods. “Angie wants to go to Lush tonight.”

“Isn’t that -” Sammy starts, suddenly feeling too hot.

“A gay club,” Brad makes a face, and Sammy can’t make eye contact. “C’mon, help me talk her out of it. I’m sure it’s all fun for her but I sure as hell don’t want dudes hitting on me.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna go out tonight anyway,” Sammy says. He hates going out anyway, he’s only been going out this summer to pretend like he still has a social life. “Headache. Music won’t help that.”

“Traitor,” Brad rolls his eyes. “Was that Jack on the phone?”

“Y-yeah,” Sammy says, hating the quick change of conversation, even though he logically knows it’s innocuous. “He says hi.”

Jack didn’t say hi, he’s glad that Brad’s not in his life anymore, but Sammy doesn’t need to say that.

“How’s sunny, sunny California?” Brad says with a roll of his eyes. Brad’s from Wisconsin too, so at least he gets it.

“Sunnier by the day,” Sammy says, getting to his feet. “But it’s too fucking hot here this summer, I think we’re giving them a run for their money.”

Sammy begs off leaving the house with his roommates that night, and Brad eventually convinces Angie that Lush is a no-go. But when they’re gone, Sammy can’t get the thought out of his head. He drives to Loring Park, to the kind of bar that’s not as conspicuous and popular as a place like Lush.

The bar is pretty small, and there’s no dancing. Just drinking, sometimes talking. It’s never very crowded. Not that Sammy had regularly frequented the place before this summer, only a couple odd stops here during winter break. But it’s the only kind of company Sammy thinks he can stand right now.

The bartender nods to him when he arrives, Sammy gets the cheapest drink on the menu, and a guy sitting across from him offers to pick up the tab. It’s how it goes when he shows up.

He never went here when Jack was around, but in the month since Jack’s been gone, it’s become a habit. Not a bad habit, not like smoking, but definitely a way that he’s coping.

Jack’s the only person Sammy loves, sometimes it feels like Jack’s the only person he’ll _ever_ love. But at least he can pretend here, at least he can get close to someone some other way.

“I asked, what’s your name?”

The guy who bought Sammy’s drink is maybe a couple years older than he is, thin and wiry but with broad shoulders. He’s got blond hair that curls just slightly behind his ears, and a bright, genuine smile like he genuinely wants to know the answer to his question.

“Sammy,” Sammy says, trying his best to match the smile. “What about you?”

“Will,” the guy grins. “You come here often? Sorry, I know it’s such a line…”

“Past few weekends,” Sammy admits, looking more at the floor than Will. “What about you?”

“Yeah, same here,” Will says, and he smiles at him. “We must keep missing each other, I would’ve noticed if I’d seen you before.”

Sammy blushes, he can’t help it, but it just makes Will smile wider.

“I like your tattoo,” Sammy says lamely, pointing at Will’s forearm, where there’s an etching of the Big Dipper. Will grins down at it.

“Thanks, I literally just got it like two weeks ago,” Will says. “I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for ages, and I finally was just like - fuck it - and I did it.”

“Why’d you choose the Big Dipper?” Sammy asks and then Will’s the one who blushes.

“On a dare,” Will says, shaking his head. “I was with some friends - they told me to close my eyes and flip through the book and point, and then I had to get whatever I landed on. I didn’t even know what it was until the next morning, so I guess I should consider myself lucky it’s not like, a flaming cross or something.”

“I like it,” Sammy says, then realizes that he said that already, and quickly adds, “it’s subtle but...I don’t know. It’s just cool.”

“You got any tattoos?” Will asks, and Sammy winces.

“Needles and I don’t get along very well,” he admits. “I was in tattoo parlor once…”

It had been in Chicago, with Jack and Lily, the second time Sammy tagged along for a weekend trip. Lily had an appointment to get a flock of sparrows on her left shoulder, and she’d talked Jack into getting something done, too. A series of geometric shapes, also his left shoulder. Sammy said it didn’t look like anything real and Jack said that was the point. Jack squeezed Sammy’s hand the whole time.

Afterwards, Jack tried to get him to do something small, but Sammy said he would’ve bolted the second someone put a needle on his skin.

“... but I chickened out,” Sammy finishes, trying for a self-deprecating smile. Will gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Well, you can always point to a random one in a book when you’re just a little bit drunk if you wanna be like me,” Will says, and Sammy laughs. “There’s a tattoo parlor not far from here….”

“Buy me another drink first before we start talking about tattoos,” Sammy says, hoping he sounds like he’s flirting, and Will grins.

It’s not like Sammy would ever do that. That would be entirely unlike him - reckless, unthinking, spur of the moment, three things he is not.

By the time he and Will are taking each other’s clothes off in Sammy’s basement bedroom, Sammy’s teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk, there’s gauze wrapped around one of his arms, and he has no idea what’s underneath. Will tells him it’s good, it looks so good, he’ll love it, Jesus fucking Christ, don’t stop….

Sammy crawls out of bed past three in the morning. Will’s dead to the world, snoring just slightly. Sammy looks at him for a moment and wonders if he’s annoyed by it or if he thinks it’s cute.

He pulls on a shirt and goes out to the backyard to smoke a cigarette before he decides.

As he stands there in the warm evening, he can’t help but be happy about tonight. He doesn’t take off his gauze because he wants Will to be there when he takes it off in the morning.

Of course, he feels horrible and guilty too but -

This is the first time Sammy’s brought someone home and not hated himself for immediately, guilt crawling through his insides. Will is nice and funny, and spontaneous and adventurous, and so many other things Sammy isn’t.

He isn’t an idiot, he knows it’s not love. But it’s nice to feel like someone likes him, like someone wants to be with him, someone who isn’t mean or thoughtless, who Sammy actually had fun with.

Sammy’s putting out his cigarette when the door to the house opens.

He jumps, thinking for a second it might be Will, being afraid that someone will see him, but it’s just Brad. He’s looking more than a little drunk himself, and still in tight jeans, which means that he either just got home or fell asleep fully clothed. Sammy isn’t sure.

“Hey,” Sammy says, voice coming out more like a croak than anything. “What’s up?”

“Looks like you went out tonight after all,” Brad nods at him, and Sammy’s sober enough to notice that Brad’s eyes are shifting in and out of focus. “You go to Lush without us?”

“Um,” Sammy says, anxiety thrumming in his chest. “No?”

“Alright,” Brad laughs, and there’s an edge to it. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck off,” Sammy says, somwhere between exhausted and terrified, not knowing which emotion to feel right now. “I’m going inside.”

“Didn’t take you for fag,” Brad says and Sammy freezes.

“I said fuck off,” he says, making his voice as hard as he can, and heads back into the house.

He half-expects Brad to stop him, slam his fist somewhere adjacent to Sammy’s head, and hold him accountable. There would be no one to stop him. And even if there had been someone else there, Angie or one of the other guys, they probably would’ve let it happen.

Sammy’s moment of happiness is over, and he feels sick to his stomach as he gets back to his room. It looks like Will’s still asleep, and even though Sammy’s just as scared for Will as he is for himself, he doesn’t wake him up.

He just locks the door and crawls back into bed, thinking about how this is the first time someone’s spent the night with him.

“Hey,” Will stirs slightly when Sammy leans against his side. “Where’d you go?”

“Just outside for a smoke,” Sammy says, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Will blinks over at him, his smile lazy, and maybe happy, too. He leans over and kisses Sammy, and it’s nice, it’s real, it helps Sammy forget what just happened upstairs. “My last boyfriend smoked, and I smoke when I’m drunk. I don’t mind.”

Sammy wonders about the word boyfriend, if it scares him or excites him or fills him with dread.

“Have you looked at the tattoo yet?” Will asks, and Sammy reaches over to flip on his bedside lamp, illuminating the room, casting their shadows on the wall. Will sits up, eyes suddenly bright and no longer sleepy, and Sammy follows suit.

Will helps him unwrap the tattoo, nice and slow. Sammy can’t remember feeling the pain when he got it, only remembers a slight stinging sensation.

“Do you like it?” Will asks as the bandages come off. “I feel like if you hate it, it’s a very bad omen for you and me…”

It’s a compass, but not a complete one. A simple design, a cross where the only direction written in is _N_.

“True north,” Sammy says, smiling, glad that it’s so simple. “I don’t know how fitting it is, since my life has no direction.”

Will laughs and leans against Sammy’s shoulder. “Maybe it’ll inspire you then.”

“Inspire me to move to the North Pole, maybe,” Sammy rolls his eyes.

“Or push you in the right direction,” Will corrects. “I mean, where do you want to end up? Where’s true north?”

Sammy stares down at the tattoo, and all he can say is “I don’t know.”

That hasn’t been true for almost four years now.

It’s a week before Sammy’s on the phone with Jack again, sitting in the kitchen instead in the backyard this time, and the words spill out before Sammy can stop them, about fifteen minutes into the phone call and completely unprompted.

“I got a tattoo,” Sammy blurts out in the middle of Jack detailing an awkward dinner with his extended family.

“Dude, seriously?” Jack says after half a second’s silence.

“Yeah,” Sammy says, switching the phone to his right hand so he can look down at his left. The tattoo is in the middle of his forearm, maybe a little closer to his wrist than his elbow. He catches himself staring at it often, and even though he always has sleeves on at work, he’ll roll one up in the bathroom just to look at it and wonder what the hell had gotten into him.

He likes it, though. There’s no denying that he likes it.

“I was tipsy,” Sammy justified himself to Jack, though he’s sure as hell not going to say _why_ he’d been tipsy that night. “I didn’t plan it.”

“Well, come on, what is it? Where is it?” Jack asks, his voice light and prodding. “Did you faint when they tried to poke a needle into your skin?”

“Not that I remember,” Sammy says. “And it’s on my forearm. It’s...it’s a compass, but north is the only direction.”

“How’d you pick that?” Jack asks, and Sammy isn’t going to tell him this particular truth.

“I figure that if my arm has a direction, maybe it’ll get my life’s ass in gear,” Sammy says, and he’s been thinking about that a lot lately, how he has no idea where he’s going next and he’s scared to pick which way he’s turning. Because whatever he picks now, he’ll probably stick to that for the rest of his life.

“I know what you mean,” Jack says quietly after a second. “I have…no idea what’s gonna happen next. No more semesters to measure my life with. It’s fucking scary.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sammy says after a beat. “At least you have a place to go home to, though.”

“Maybe,” Jack says, his voice barely audible before it suddenly gets louder again. “Hey. I just want to say - I know I talk about how my job’s going great, but like. It sucks that you’re not here with me. It’s weird, and I don’t like it.”

Sammy can’t help but smile, even though his chest hurts. “Dude, I miss you, too. Everyone else who lives in this house is driving me insane.”

Sammy doesn’t think Brad remembers their encounter last week, but he hasn’t brought Will around again. When Will asked, Sammy had just said he wasn’t out, and Will got it because he wasn’t either, but he just had one roommate to contend with. Sammy had been to Will’s place twice since then.

“Oh, all of my new roommates suck too,” Jack says, and Sammy feels an inordinate amount of relief. “I swear the kitchen looks like a war zone half the time. But it’s - it’s not just that you’re a good roommate. You’re my best friend. I don’t like this whole separate cities thing.”

“Me neither,” Sammy says, words never truer, and for some reason it feels like his heart’s crawled up into his throat. “Maybe - maybe I’ll come see you. When I’m done at MPR in August.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and it sounds like he’s about to say something else, but then quickly says “I gotta go but - but I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

“Alright,” Sammy says, checking his watch. It’s only been twenty minutes. He’d been counting on longer. The phone calls aren’t much, but they get him through the week.

“Miss you,” Jack says one more time, and then the call ends and Sammy doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Until Will calls half an hour later and says “Hey, you wanna come over tonight? I know we’ve both got work in the morning, but….”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Sammy says, stowing away his turmoil over Jack. “How’s seven?”

Jack’s not here. It should be easy not to think about him. But that doesn’t mean that Sammy doesn’t spend the whole night wishing he was with Jack instead of here.


	3. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far as I've written so far, but hopefully I'll get a lot done this weekend! I'm very excited about King Falls coming back and though I probably won't finish the fic before then (here's fucking hoping obviously!!!!) I'm gonna try. Thanks for reading!

**King Falls Colorado, July 2017**

“Good evening folks, if you’re just tuning in tonight, this is King Falls AM, that’s 660 on the radio dial. We’re taking your calls, King Falls, but right now, we’re about ten minutes out from an interview with Katie Lynch about safety in and around Perdition Wood.”

“Just don’t go there.”

“Excellent advice from our local paranormal expert Ben Arnold, folks. Truly groundbreaking stuff here at 660. You heard the man - stay away.”

“Seriously, guys - just don’t.”

“Truer words never spoken. It really is a sad time here in King Falls after the funeral of Caroline Vaughn just last week. We’re going to be talking to Deputy Lynch about the specifics of how you can protect yourself up there, but please, above all else, just be cautious. You never know what could happen.”

“Can’t imagine a grimmer death than…”

“Okay, no need to get graphic. Caroline’s friends and family have been through enough.”

“I know, I know. It’s just, there’s enough danger to be found here in King Falls on its own without stumbling on the Devil’s Doorstep.”

“...Well, you’re right. Best small town in America, safest small town in America, it doesn’t look all that likely in light of recent events.”

“Sure as hell isn’t the safest. I mean, what kind of town just lets Frickard -”

“ _ O _ kay, I see your one note rant has come back again. Let’s steer clear of any amphibian-loving creeps tonight. And every night. Deputy Lynch will be here soon and -”

“I’m sorry, man, I just - I’m so -  _ angry _ .”

“Me too, buddy. There’s absolutely nothing right about this situation. Have you tried calling her?”

“No. No, I just - I can’t make anything worse. For her or for me. At least she’s still...whole. Functioning. Well. I think she is. God, I’m so angry at that fucking little -”

“I know you are. And you should be. Frickard is an absolute monster, no doubt about it.”

“I just...everything feels so helpless.”

“It’s not. She’s here. You brought her back. Everything will right itself in the end.”

“How can you say that with so much confidence?”

“Because I know you, Ben Arnold. I know you’ll never stop trying to make things right - you’re too good of a person.”

“I don’t know about that. And even if I was -”

“I  _ do _ . You’re the best person I know, Ben. You only deserve the best in the world, and you won’t rest until you get it. That’s what makes you you. Hero.”

“I - thank you. I doubt that seriously, but thank you.”

“Don’t doubt it. You can do anything, Ben. You’ve proved that. And if you need any help, I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

“Thanks. And thanks for - for everything else you’ve been doing for me. These past couple months, since - since  _ Frickard -  _ but also in general. I honestly think I’d go insane without you.”

“Hey, backatcha. You’re my best friend. Life would get very boring very quickly without you, Ben.”

“Life would be unbearable without you, dude.”

“I doubt that. But thank you.”

“Don’t doubt it.  _ You’re  _ the best person  _ I  _ know.”

“....Alright folks, sorry for that slight detour into sappiness, but we filled up five minutes of airtime before Deputy Lynch’s call-in. I’m sure one of you lovely listeners can fill up the other five. Give us a call at…”

**King Falls Colorado, July 2005**

There’s a new rule instituted and enshrined in the Arnold household: Sunday night dinners. Ben’s mom will schedule work off every single week. Ben will be home, and they have to cook together, eat together, and do the dishes together. 

His mom is on a big kick of doing things  _ together  _ now that the cat’s out of the bag about Ben having no friends, no job, and being entirely useless in general. 

Ben’s pretty much always home now anyway, other than when he’s at the station with Laura or he’s talking to the guidance counselor. Going to the school in the summer is odd, but he just needs to get in and out of her office where she’d be working anyway.

He goes to the library sometimes to do all the reading on King Falls history he can. He’s making a list of supernatural phenomena he wants to investigate someday. He’s thinking maybe that’s what he wants to do with his future, with a college degree or not - research the paranormal of his hometown and report on it.

He thinks Channel Thirteen might like a TV show like that. It’s stupid, it’s a pipe dream, but that doesn’t stop Ben from thinking about how well he could do a show about King Falls. No one knows King Falls like he does, and he’s been obsessed with apparitions and witches and lake monsters since before he could talk. 

But first. First he has to get a degree that will get him hired. Which requires money. Which requires…

“Honey, I don’t think a job is the best idea right now,” his mom says sternly on Sunday night, almost a month after the disastrous end of Ben’s career at the Bent and Dent. Still, he’s eradicated the fear that he’ll be stuck there forever, taking Bill’s place and barking orders at poor teenagers for the rest of his life. 

Ben opens his mouth to argue and his mom firmly cuts him with a fork pointing in his direction. They made a brisket that night, and it’s a little too tough because Ben’s still learning to cook. 

“Don’t you dare talk about college money,” his mom half-threatens, but Ben recognizes the hurt look in her eye. “It’s my job to worry about college, alright?”

“It’s not just college,” Ben says in a small voice, even though he knows perfectly well it is. “I - I need a car, too.”

“Don’t use that excuse,” his mom says, but not harshly. She’s got an apologetic smile on her face, like she can’t stand that Ben’s even thinking about this. “You’ve got enough in savings that you could buy a junker from Mel.”

“I’m saving that for…”

“College, yes, I know,” his mom sighs, setting down her fork. “Kiddo, I’ve got enough saved up to get you going. And you can take out loans to cover the rest of it. Just don’t pick an expensive place to go to school, yeah? And I know this isn’t exactly the cheapest state to go to school in…”

Ben shifts uncomfortably in his seat, staring at his brisket. He’s been eating more these past few weeks, but it’s still hard to get full meals down. 

“Maybe we can ask your dad for help,” his mom says, and Ben’s fork clatters to the table.

“Don’t,” Ben bites, firm as he can without being mean. His mom’s eyebrows knit together as she rubs one of her temples.

“We’ll talk about it later,” his mom says, so quietly it’s almost under her breath. “Let’s get back to this summer job business. If you like the radio station, just keep going there. There’s no reason for you to stress yourself out all over again. You can’t go to college if you push yourself too hard before you even get there.”

“But -” Ben starts, and his mom puts one of her hands up.

“I realize that you’re not going to listen to me,” she pats his hands. “So I do have another suggestion.”

“What?” Ben asks, already wary and curling in on himself defensively. He knows his mom isn’t going to suggest anything she doesn’t think Ben will agree to, but the image of the Bent and Dent and his cracked glasses is still fresh in his mind. He got contacts two weeks ago and they make his eyes itch, but Ben wants to get used to them before the school year starts.

“You know the Bait and Tackle?” His mom asks, her tone the epitome of casual as she takes his plate and walks over to the sink. There’s still meat on it, but she must know that he’s not going to finish. 

“Yeah?” Ben says, confused, because everyone knows the Bait and Tackle. It’s a staple of the community.

“Well, you know Andy Begley died earlier this year,” she explains and Ben nods along, still not seeing what this has to do with him. The Bait and Tackle usually doesn’t hire high schoolers; it has plenty of full-season employees. “And Ron moved back to take over the business.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ben says, frowning. “What about it?”

“Well, when Ron came home…” His mom hesitates, biting her lip as she comes back to sit at the table with Ben. “A lot of Andy’s guys quit. And Ron’s had a lot of trouble finding help, especially since summer is the busy season.”

“What?” Ben asks, confused for a different reason now. People loved the Bait and Tackle. “Why?”

His mom doesn’t quite look at him, just purses her lips and gets a hard look in her eye. “I guess it’s probably a good thing you haven’t heard about this - I would’ve expected the gossips at the Bent and Dent to be all over this.”

She sighs. “Ron’s gay. And he’s brought a partner back home with him from Denver. He and his partner are running the Bait and Tackle together. And a lot of folks in town - especially the men who worked for Andy - well, they didn’t much care for that. And no one wants to replace them.”

“That’s awful,” Ben says, his stomach churning, thinking of Archie. Archie had never even said he was gay as far as Ben knew, even though everyone automatically makes the assumption. He can’t imagine how brave Ron is to say something like that - here.

Ben loves King Falls. He doesn’t know if that would still be the case if he was gay.

“I ran into him at the post office and happened to mention you were looking for a job,” his mom says. “He said he’d love to have you, as long as you weren’t, and I quote, ‘a jumped up little shit who’s high off his own heterosexual hormones’.”

She laughs, and Ben can’t help but laugh too, genuine and loud.

“Finally a job that I’m qualified for that Pete Meyers isn’t,” Ben says, relishing in that idea maybe more than he should. 

“You’ll be good, if I send you along to him?” His mom’s face turns serious. “I know you’ll have good intentions, but just - watch what you say carefully.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” Ben says, thinking that he’s up to the task. Much more so than any of the other seniors in high school he knows, at the very least. It’s not often he thinks he’s the best option for anything. 

“I wouldn’t expect less,” his mom grins. “At least go talk to him - I think it’d be good for you. And he’ll be much more understanding than Bill and not schedule you nearly as many hours.”

“It’s not hard to be a better boss than Bill,” Ben rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a little better about his summer at the prospect of working for someone like Ron instead. “But - but yeah. I’ll talk to Ron.”

Tuesday morning, he has an unofficial job interview behind the desk of the Bait and Tackle. Ron Begley’s a big guy, easily over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and bulky, a brown bushy beard with flecks of grey. He’s maybe forty, with rough and calloused hands. When he shakes Ben’s hand, it’s hard enough to break bones.

“Sorry, kid,” Ron grins as Ben rubs his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” Ben says, only a little intimidated. Almost everything intimidates Ben, so he ignores the instinct to run away. If he always listened when his brain told him to run, he’d literally never stop. 

“You’re Betty Arnold’s boy,” Ron nods at him as the two of them sit behind the cash register, Ben perching on the edge of a wooden stool when Ron gestures toward it. “Think the last time I saw you, you were about nine, hanging off Betty’s arm at the Bass Tournament.”

“Right, yeah, probably,” Ben says, blushing a bit.

“Haven’t grown too much since then,” Ron says, but not unkindly, just with a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry too much about it. I hit my growth spurt at sixteen.”

“One more month ‘til I’m seventeen, so I guess I’m running out of time,” Ben tries for joking but Ron seems to realize it’s a sore subject if his gentle smile is anything to go by. It doesn’t match the rough quality of his voice or hands at all. 

“Well, you’ll be handsome no matter how tall you get,” Ron says with a casual brush of his hand.

“Oh,” Ben says, looking at his hands and blushing again. His mom tells him that, but not many other people do. “Thanks, Ron.”

Ron chuckles. “You know, I tell all the guys I interview that they’re cute and they usually bolt in the next second. A test to see if they can handle being around me. You’re the first that’s passed.”

“Really?” Ben asks, wincing internally at how badly the town must be coming off. Then again, Ron’s from here, he probably already knew that King Falls hardly dealt with things like this in the best way. “That’s dumb. They should learn to take a compliment.”

Ron guffaws, slapping his knee, and Ben laughs along with him, way more comfortable and free to say what he likes here in the first five minutes in the Bait and Tackle than he ever had been in the Bent and Dent. There’s no Pete Meyers here, for one thing, and if there was, Ron would kick him out on his ass.

“I like the way you think, kid,” Ron says, grinning. “What do you know about fishing?”

Ben shrugs. “I mean, I’m no expert. I - I did the bass tournament a couple times when I was a kid. With...with my dad.”

Ben swallows, not letting himself think about that. “And my friend Troy and I came out to the lake sometimes in middle school. Haven't really done much since then, though. When I come out to the lake - well. I look for Kingsie.”

Ron beams at him. “My girl. Missed her so much when I was outta town.”

Ben can’t help but grin back, tentative and excited. One of his dreams is to get a photo of Kingsie someday.  “Have you seen her? I’ve never gotten a glimpse!”

“Oh, she pops her head up every once in a while,” Ron says with a shrug, but Ben can tell he’s glad that Ben brought her up. Ron clearly likes to talk about her. “I’ll take you out on the lake to cruise around someday, see if we can’t catch a glimpse. I have some treats she likes that I use to get her close to the boat. Never fails.” 

“Wow, that would be so cool!” Ben exclaims, heart pumping at the idea, but then quickly remembers where he is and clears his throat. “I mean. I love Lake Hatchenhaw. And I love Kingsie, even though I’ve never met her. I don’t know much about fishing itself, but I’m a fast learner.”

“I bet you are,” Ron says, and Ben’s reminded of Laura, and the instant comfort he felt around her. It’s the same feeling now. He knows Ron believes him and takes him at his word. “All I care about are two things - that you can run a cash register and that you’re not a dick. To me or Bruce. That’s my partner. We live upstairs. If that’s a problem, you get the fuck out now, but if it’s not, then welcome to the Bait and Tackle.”

“I won’t be a dick,” Ben promises. “I don’t care about any of that.”

Ron blinks at him a couple times, tilting his head. When he speaks again, it’s much quieter and with a prodding tone. “Don’t say you don’t care, Benny. You  _ should  _ care. No one should ignore the parts of me who make me who I am in order to be around me.”

“Ron, that’s not what I meant at all, I’m sorry -” Ben flushes with embarrassment as he babbles, but Ron shushes him. 

“I know you’ve got good intentions, kid,” Ron pats Ben’s knee. “I wouldn’t correct you if you didn’t. I wouldn’t care enough to. But with some polishing up, I think you could do real nicely. Like you said - you’re a fast learner. Not many are.”

“Oh,” Ben says, still processing the quick turnaround of emotions. He’s still embarrassed, but he’s proud that Ron thinks he’s worth the effort. “I - I’ll try to do better.”

“That’s all we can ask of anyone,” Ron says. The roughness of his voice and the gentleness of his tone shouldn’t match together so well, but they do. “And in return, I promise you that I’ll be a good boss, and schedule you some cushy hours. And we’ll go poke around for my lake monster one of these days and you can give her a treat. We got a deal?”

“Yeah,” Ben smiles, relieved and almost happy when Ron reaches out his hand again. He doesn’t mind his fingers getting crushed the second time around.

Ben works just under forty hours a week at the Bait and Tackle after that, and though he’s often scheduled on weekends since those are the busiest days, he rarely has to come in the evenings. Ron is almost always there, never a day off. There’s one old-timer that Ron managed to keep on-board, Reed, who works much more than Ben. There’s a girl who goes to King Falls Community College who comes in during the week too and works an opposite schedule than Ben, so he really only spends time with Reed and Ron.

Ben still doesn’t know much about fishing, but he knows how to ring items up and count back change, which is all Ron really cares about. Soon, he knows enough to do inventory too, and usually cleans while he’s there even though Ron doesn’t direct him to. 

Ron works enough without having to scrub the floors down. 

It’s two weeks before Ron comes down the stairs and gruffly pulls another man behind him, leaner and more spry than Ron but also clearly a little older if his fully grey beard is anything to go by. 

Ben’s the only one in, and quickly stands up behind the desk to face them, realizing the importance of what’s happening quickly without Ron having to say anything.

“Ben, this is Bruce,” Ron nods between them, not making direct eye with Ben, instead looking just overtop Ben’s head.

“Nice to meet you,” Ben says softly, and reaches out a hand. Bruce takes it, smiling gently at Ben. He has a firm handshake, but nowhere near the strength of Ron’s death grip.

“You too, Ben,” Bruce says, his voice low and gravelly. “Ron says you want to be a journalist someday. So what the hell are you doing in this old place? You should get out while you can.”

“Don’t scare off my help,” Ron says, but Ben can tell he’s hiding a smile underneath the gruff and bluster. 

Ben likes the Bait and Tackle, but that’s mainly because of Ron and not because of the work he’s doing. The radio station is still where he wants to be. It’s a relief, working a board and feeling like he’s good at it, that someone might pay him to work one himself someday.

Laura certainly thinks he has potential. When he tells her about the Bait and Tackle during break when Chet’s stepped out for a cigarette, she laughs and says “I hope you still wanna get into journalism, Benny. I’m sure the fishing business is lucrative, but…”

“Oh, I definitely for sure wanna do journalism,” Ben says quickly. “This is just a good high school job, and I like Ron a lot. But yeah - journalism's it for me as long as I can. You know. Get a degree in it.”

“Where do you think you wanna work someday?” Laura tilts her head at him. “Radio, television ...?"

“I dunno,” Ben plays with the strings on his hoodie, blushing at even the thought of articulating his pipe dreams. It seems stupid to say them out loud, but this is Laura. “I’d love to end up at someplace like Channel Thirteen someday.”

Laura nods, smiling, and leans over to ruffle Ben’s hair. “You’ve got a face for television for sure, Benny. Don’t need to coop those good looks up in a radio station. I can picture you as the star reporter already.”

Ben beams at the stamp of approval. “I - really?”

“Really,” Laura assures him, patting his hand. “You ever think about leaving King Falls, trying your luck out in the big city?”

Ben shakes his head right away. “I - no, I don’t think so. I’m sure that if I do end up going to college, it’ll be here, or not very far away. And I love King Falls. I love the paranormal, the weird and crazy stuff that happens here - it’s what I’m passionate about. I couldn’t find that in a big city.”

“Fair point,” Laura acknowledges, nodding. “I’m just saying - I think you could make it. Be the next Cronkite or Brokaw. You’ve got the drive.”

“Thanks, Laura,” Ben turns red, but the warmth in his chest doesn’t have anything to do with embarrassment for a change, just - just happiness, and pride in himself. 

“But if you wanna stay here in town,” Laura says, waving as Chet re-enters the recording booth with a fresh cup of coffee, “know that King Falls AM is a great place to work. And as long as you have that nice, shiny degree, Merv will hire you no questions asked.”

“I know,” Ben says, the warmth continuing as he thinks about how the station could easily become a home for him if he wants.

“I don’t have a college degree and Merv hired me, Benny-Cat,” Chet says, picking up on the tail end of the conversation as he sits across from them, casually spinning his chair presumably for dramatic flair. “Not always necessary to spend all that dough for a certificate on your wall.”

“You’re sixty,” Laura rolls her eyes in Ben’s direction. “The rules were different for your generation. And I’m sure Ben wants to do something a little more hard-hitting than talk about jazz every night.”

Chet raises an eyebrow at him, and all Ben can do is nod in response. He  _ does  _ want to do something hard-hitting someday, something real and gritty and incredible and unique. Like Cronkite or Brokaw.

Ben’s good mood lasts for days after that. Literally the only thing that he thinks could bring him down right now is a shift at the Bent and Dent, which he luckily never has to experience again.

That’s until he gets home from Ron’s on Friday afternoon and his mom’s sitting in the living room, getting to her feet when Ben gets in the front door. She has a tight look on her face, her forehead creased and eyebrows knitted, lips in a straight line.

“What is it?” Ben says immediately in place of a greeting. “What - what did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” his mom reassures him, taking him by the hand as he enters the room and pulls him down to sit on the couch next to her. “I did.”

“Um - what?” Ben asks, heart rate suddenly increasing exponentially. Betty Arnold didn’t fuck up, not ever. She had to deal with a tough set of circumstances most of the time, and that could make rifts between the two of them, but she’d never done anything that Ben would blame her for. “What’s wrong?”

His mom sighs, and she half-smiles as she brushes Ben’s hair out of his eyes and curls it behind his ear. “You look taller, Benny.”

“No, I don’t,” Ben says. “What’s wrong?”

His mom takes a deep breath. “So. I called your dad today.”

Ben’s mouth goes dry. He thinks he’s lost feeling in most of his limbs just in that one second of time. He stutters when he tries to speak, but the words just won’t form. “I - I - what?”

“I wanted to ask him about college,” his mom says quietly, taking Ben’s hand in her own. “See if he would help.”

“I don’t want his help,” Ben spits so quickly the words taste acidic on his tongue. “And he can’t help anyway -”

“He  _ can _ ,” his mom says, her voice much harder now, though it’s obviously not directed at Ben. It’s directed at his dad, perpetually absent and never there to be on the receiving end of her hardness. “And he should. You’re his only son!”

“He’s a drunk -”

“He says he’s sober now,” his mom interrupts.

“And you  _ believe  _ him?” 

“He’s married now, you know that,” his mom squeezes his hand so tightly both of their knuckles turn white. “I have it on good authority from Shelly that he’s telling the truth - that he’s sober, that he has some money put away. And when I talked to him - he said - well, he said he would.”

“I -  _ really _ ? No, no he didn’t.” 

Ben can’t imagine a dad who’s sober, a dad who has a wife that he lives with and stays with, or a dad who has enough money that he’s willing to part with any of it for something as meaningless to him as his son. 

“He’d like to see you first,” his mom says softly. “A visit. Just for a week.”

“He wants to see me  _ now _ , now that I’m grown up,” Ben says, laughing bitterly. “Now that there’s no diapers to change and no toys to play with and no desperate approval for me to seek from him. Well, too little too late.”

“I’ll let you think about it,” his mom pulls Ben’s head toward her to press a kiss to his hair. He goes limp in her arms. “You don’t have to. I’m not going to make you. But - I think it would be a good idea. Not just because of the money. Because he’s your dad and you should see him. It’s been -”

“It’s been  _ not long enough, _ ” Ben interrupts. He pulls away from his mom and stands up, his good mood very much dissipated. His hands start to shake. “I - I’m just gonna -”

He bolts from the room before his mom can even call out after him to stop.

**Minneapolis Minnesota, July 2005**

Sammy’s woken up far too late in the evening by the sound of his phone ringing incessantly. It’s loud, obnoxious, and grating, so of course it’s Lily Wright on the other end.

“You woke me up,” Sammy says in lieu of greeting, scrambling for his glasses in the semi-dark of his room. He’s glad that he isn’t at Will’s tonight, that would be the embarrassment frosting on top of this already irritating and uncomfortable cake.

“Boo hoo,” Lily’s sardonic monotone rings too loudly for past midnight. “Sorry I cut off your masturbation time.”

“ _ Asleep _ ,” Sammy reiterates as he flips his lamp on and gets back into bed. If he falls asleep during the conversation, it’s Lily’s own damn fault for calling after one in the morning on a weekday. “Why are you calling me?”

“I just got off the phone with Jack,” Lily says. Sammy scrubs at his eyes and tries to wake himself up without making himself anxious. If Lily’s calling, of course it has something to do with Jack. 

“And?” Sammy asks. “I talked to Jack on Sunday.” 

“I  _ called _ ,” Lily says, completely ignoring Sammy, “to tell him about a job opportunity at the station I’m working for right now.”

“...what is it?” Sammy asks warily, not letting himself think about the possibilities of where this might be going. Lily works at one of the smaller news stations in Chicago, which is why she can head up a research department already at twenty-five years old. That, and Lily is damn good at what she does. She’s got the kind of energy and drive that Sammy knows he’ll never have. She and Jack are similar like that. 

“It’s a nine-month program for up and comers in the business, mostly recent college grads,” Lily says. “Like an internship that pays better, and you have a good chance at being hired afterwards. Plus, you actually get to be on the air. It’s mainly talk radio, but you can pitch actual reporting pieces, too.”

"Sounds ...good?" Sammy says, not nearly awake enough to process any of this. “Are you saying I should apply?”

Lily sighs like Sammy’s particularly dense. “Yes, though I have no idea why I’m suggesting this to such an idiot. But they accept applications in pairs. You and Jack should apply together.”

“Together?” Sammy can’t help but repeat and Lily clicks her tongue impatiently.

“I mean, you could each apply on your own if you really wanted to, but I think you’ve got a better shot together,” Lily says. “As much as I loathe to admit the two of you having any good qualities, you and Jack are a great team on the air.”

“I thought you never listened to our college broadcast,” Sammy’s brain might not be fully online or processing any of this yet, but he can still be snarky even when he feels a little short of breath. 

He can practically hear the eye roll. “I listened, doofus. You guys are good - better than most at your age.”

“You’re three years older than us,” Sammy feels the need to remind her. Lily still thinks of Jack as a ten year old, and so Sammy gets treated accordingly as Jack’s obnoxious and unnecessary elementary school friend. 

Lily soundly ignores him. “Most DJs work parallel. They’re each trying to do their own thing and outshine the other. You and Jack aren’t like that. You sound easy and natural, and he lets you take the lead. Which Jack doesn’t do for just anyone, I might add. It is kind of ironic that you have the lead broadcast voice  but follow him around like a lost puppy dog the rest of the time -”

“Enough,” Sammy groans, heart beating uncomfortably loudly in his chest. 

“I’m just saying,” Lily says, voice not even slightly verging on apologetic because Lily’s never heard of an apology in her life, “you two work well together, and if you apply as a team, I think you’ll get the spot.”

“What did Jack say about all this?” Sammy asks, nails digging into his skin as he clenches his fist without meaning to. Sammy can’t even think about his own reaction to all of this without knowing what Jack said first and foremost. 

“You know Jack,” Lily says, her tone dismissive. “He’s incapable of admitting that I’m right about anything, so he’ll  _ think about it and get back to me  _ which means that he’s on board for sure and just doesn’t want to admit it. He  _ also  _ said he’d have to talk to you first, so expect that call any minute now.”

“Jack’s not gonna call me at one in the morning because Jack has boundaries, unlike some people in this conversation,” Sammy grouches. 

“You and Jack have too many boundaries,” Lily says, and Sammy already knows he’s going to hate whatever comes out of his mouth next. “At least if the two of you get this job, it gets you another step closer to fulfilling your lifelong dream of sucking his dick -”

“Lily, I will pay you to shut the fuck up,” Sammy hisses under his breath, looking around his empty bedroom as if he’s expecting someone to jump out and go  _ aha!  _ He needs to be less paranoid.

“You didn’t say I was wrong,” Lily sounds way too smug. “Besides, you and Jack need to live in the same city again. I swear, if I have to hear him say he misses you one more time in that longing voice of his…”

“Email me the information about the job,” Sammy says, closing his eyes and lifting a hand up to rub his temple. He knows Lily’s exaggerating, but that doesn’t make this conversation any more bearable, even if the idea of living in the same place as Jack again is equal parts wonderful and painful. “I’ll think about it.”

“I mean, if your career goal is to stay in Minnesota forever and work for MPR, take or leave my advice,” Lily says. “But I thought you were a little more ambitious than that.”

Sammy squeezes his eyes shut. He is ambitious, Lily’s right, he has dreams of making it big. But those are just dreams. Jack and Lily Wright are ten times more ambitious than Sammy is, and they’re the types of people whose dreams don’t seem so stupid and pointless. They’re going to achieve anything no matter how impossible it seems to mere mortals like Sammy. 

Sammy wants to spend his entire life trying to keep up with Jack, but he doesn’t know if he has what it takes. 

“Goodnight, Lily,” Sammy says so he doesn’t have to think about that, and hangs up the phone.

He spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts muddled and anxiety-filled. He gets up to go to MPR the next day, puts in his pressed and ironed shirt, and wonders if he wants to get up in the morning and head to MPR every day for the rest of his life.

What would his life look like if just ...stayed? 

If MPR did in fact want to hire him when his summer with them was over, of course Sammy would take the job. As far as Minneapolis and radio went, MPR was the top tier. There was no guarantee of that success, though. 

Sammy hates Como with a burning passion after having lived there for two years of his undergrad, but it’s a college neighborhood, he wouldn’t have to live there forever. He could move to Northeast or New Brighton at the end of the summer, and maybe once he got established, live in a place like Uptown. Or hell, even the suburbs.

But even if he could afford the suburbs, why the hell would he want to live there? The suburbs are for families, and Sammy’s never gonna have one of those. Sammy doubts he’ll ever be able to live openly as himself, but he’s equally incapable of finding a girl to pretend with. He’s a member of the guild of perpetual bachelorhood, and has known that since before he consciously knew that girls weren’t for him.

Minneapolis cheaper to live in. There are more opportunities in Chicago. Minneapolis is what he’s used to. Chicago could hold a future for him. Sammy’s always played things safe. But Jack Wright has spent four years inching Sammy outside of the comfortable hole Sammy had decided to bury himself in at a very young age.

Sammy’s lost, stewing in his own thoughts for most of the day, and certainly not paying attention to anything but his own warring emotions. He takes three smoke breaks and hates himself more during each one.

When he checks his phone after work, there’s a voicemail from Will.

_ “Hey dude, I’m working late tonight but if you wanna come over after nine, Macy’s staying over at her boyfriend’s again. Just let me know. Key’s under the mat, you can let yourself in if you get there before me.” _

Sammy sits in his car in the parking lot of MPR and plays the voicemail over three times. Will let him know where the key was. Sammy doesn’t know how serious this relationship is, but Will let him know where the key was. Does that mean something?

Sammy has no fucking clue. 

And that’s what this all comes down to at the end of the day, Sammy is uncomfortably aware. He knows his choice here doesn’t have anything to do with radio.

A lifetime of Jack, wonderful, perfect, unattainable Jack, next to him and yet never with him, not in the way Sammy doesn’t let himself dream about.

Or a kind-of almost not-quite relationship with someone else. Someone who will always mean less to him. It could be two months of Will or ten years of him. Sammy knows that he’ll never feel as strongly toward him as he does toward Jack.

Sammy goes to Will’s at ten so he doesn’t have to let himself in. Will opens the door, smiles at him. He looks happy to see Sammy. He doesn’t know Sammy very well, no one knows Sammy well who isn’t Jack, but Will knows the one thing about Sammy that Jack doesn’t. 

They’re laying next to each other in bed afterwards, Will’s face mashed into Sammy’s shoulder. Will isn’t clingy except for after they’ve slept together. Sammy doesn’t feel guilty about soaking in the affectionate contact right now, though he would usually because Will doesn’t like needless touch most of the time.

“How many people have you slept with?” Sammy asks the quiet of the room and Will makes a noise into Sammy’s neck.

“Hmm,” Will rolls away from him, still smiling. Will’s always cheerful. That’s something Sammy likes about him. “Well, my high school girlfriend, if you wanna count her. I had a boyfriend in college, and ...I think three different hookups? One of them was a regular thing, two of them were one night stands. I think four guys since I left college, including one boyfriend. And now you. So - eight or nine, depending on if we’re counting girls or not.”

“You can count her,” Sammy says, looking more at the ceiling than at Will, wondering if Will classified Sammy as a boyfriend or a regular hookup. He suspects he already knows the answer to that.

Will’s hand guides Sammy’s chin and pulls him into a rough, filthy kiss that Sammy doesn’t love. “How about you?”

“Just two, other than you,” Sammy admits as Will kisses his jaw. His inadequacy is all too apparent. “One hookup, a few years ago. And then a thing I had with my economics professor.”

“Ooh, dirty,” Will wiggles his eyebrows and Sammy wishes he wouldn’t. “That must be where you got all your moves from, then.”

“I don’t have moves,” Sammy says and Will laughs at him. They’re quiet for another half a second before Sammy blurts out “Did you ever love any of them?”

He isn’t sure how the question made it through his several layers of boundaries, but Will’s smile gets a little smaller and more affectionate than before.

“You trying to tell me something, Stevens?” He asks, quiet and serious.

“No, no,” Sammy says quickly, and the second he says it, the reason he asked the question in the first place becomes all too visible. His throat constricts. “I’m just curious.”

“My last boyfriend,” Will says quietly, leaning back against the headboard. He has a small grimace on his face. “I think I loved him. I don’t know. I never told him, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sammy can’t answer. He doesn’t know if it matters or not. That’s kind of the issue here. 

“Were you head over heels for your econ prof?” Will asks, making a lewd face.  He makes a joke out of everything. Sammy doesn’t like that about him.

Sammy shakes his head, taking the question much more seriously than Will meant it.  “No. No, I wasn’t.”

Sammy already knows the next question, and Will doesn’t disappoint. He asks, and Sammy doesn’t say he’s in love with his best friend, even though Jack is the only name he can think of to the question  _ who were you in love with? _

It’s not a  _ were  _ anyway. It’s present tense. Jack’s thousands of miles away, but everything about Sammy’s feelings for Jack is rooted firmly in the here and now. 

Will seems to know it’s coming when Sammy says goodbye the next morning and tells him it’s permanent. Will just smiles, kisses Sammy briefly, and tells him good luck wherever he’s going.

“Sorry,” Sammy can’t help but blush and feel hopelessly awkward. “I just -”

“It’s fine,” Will says, holding his hands up in mock self-defense. “No need to explain yourself. We weren’t serious, I knew that. It was fun while it lasted. And hey, you’ll always have something to remember me by, right?”

He gestures towards Sammy’s tattoo, and Sammy doesn’t tell him that when he looks down at the  _ N  _ inked on his arm, he thinks of Jack every time.

“Right,” Sammy says instead. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” Will says, and that’s that. 

He’s made his decision before he even gets the email from Jack, who has attached all the information about the job in Chicago with the comment  _ hey Lily called you right? I’m gonna look through it all but let’s talk this weekend! Is Friday okay? _

Jack’s more important than anything else, friendship or something more. Sammy knows it’s only ever going to be friendship, and that hurts but it’s okay. As long as Jack wants him, Sammy’s going to follow him.

Sammy waits the torturous two days until Friday, throws out his last pack of cigarettes, and calls Jack himself the second he knows Jack’s off work. 

“So,” Jack says immediately after they say their hellos. “Chicago.”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, heart in his throat. He hasn’t slept in two days, and hasn’t eaten much either. He can feel in his bones that this conversation is going to be a moment that sticks with him, for better or for worse.

“Lily thinks there’s a good chance,” Jack says, and Sammy can tell even through the phone that Jack’s nervous, too. “They take half a dozen people every year to this program, usually three pairs. I - we can always apply separately, if you wanna do that, but - I think Lily’s right. We have a better shot if we do it together.”

“And when you’re admitting Lily’s right, she has to have a point,” Sammy teases because it’s what comes most naturally to him, and distracts him from the pounding of his heart.

“Do you think she has a point?” Jack asks, and for half a second, he almost sounds insecure. That isn't right. Jack should never sound insecure, Jack’s the most obnoxiously self-confident person Sammy’s ever met.

“Yeah,” Sammy says without thinking. “We’re - we’ve always been better together, Jack. Or at least I’ve always been better with you.”

“Don’t say that, I’m the one who’s better with  _ you _ ,” Jack says like it’s obvious. He always makes Sammy feel like he’s valuable, even when Sammy sincerely doubts that’s true. “You have such a good radio presence, I’m just -”

“You just tell me everything to say and when to say it,” Sammy fills in for him and Jack laughs. “I’d be lost without you, Jack. Let’s - let’s do it, alright? Let’s apply together. We don’t have anything to lose.”

“I’m so glad you said that,” Jack says. The genuineness and excitement in his voice is apparent even over the phone line, and it makes Sammy feel lightheaded. “I mean - it’d be like a dream. You and me in Chicago. With Lily. If we get this, it’d be so perfect.”

“Other than the  _ with Lily  _ part, I’m in full agreement,” Sammy says, not really meaning it, only searching for something to say that doesn’t sound too heartfelt or emotional or like  _ I’m in love with you and I always have been _ , which is what Sammy feels like his entire demeanor screams most days. “I think if I fuck one tiny thing up in her radio station, she’ll squash me with a flyswatter.”

“She likes you,” Jack says, a little quieter, even as Sammy laughs. “I’m serious. She wouldn’t have called you if she didn’t like you. I think she really wants us there. I - I really want us there, too.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Sammy says, and he can’t help but smile at how happy Jack sounds at the idea. How could he have ever debated this? He loves Jack. It doesn’t matter what kind of love that is, Sammy’s life has no direction without Jack there to guide him. “It can’t hurt to try, at least.”

There’s a beat of silence before Jack says “Even if we don’t get the job. Let’s move there anyway.”

“You serious?” Sammy asks, and it’s undeniable that his affection for Jack is leaking into every word he says. He’s glad Jack sounds just as soppy on the other end, or he’d be embarrassed. 

“Yeah, let’s move there,” Jack says, that confidence of his slowly filtering back into his voice. “The second our internships are done in August, we move to Chicago. Hopefully to start this job but - but if not, then to find a different job. We can stay with Lily while we look for an apartment - look for jobs - and if we can’t find jobs there, then we’ll move somewhere else. I just - I think Lily’s right. I think we work better together then we do apart.”

Sammy’s glad Jack can’t actually see him right now, how hard he’s grinning and how visibly apparent it is that Sammy desperately wants to be wherever Jack is.

“Alright,” Sammy says. “August, then. I’ll see you in August and we’ll - we’ll fucking move to Chicago, oh my God. That’s ridiculous, I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud.”

“I know,” Jack says, his voice equally excited. “God, this summer has been endless, but this - this’ll make it worth it. If we can get this fellowship, maybe we’ll get hired by the station and get our own show someday - I mean, you and me, our own show. We used to talk about how cool that would be but - but maybe it’ll actually be real.”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, throat constricting, thinking about the hours spent in the college radio station dreaming up schemes of how they could keep doing this for the rest of their lives. Nothing can ever stop Jack from making dreams a reality. “It’ll be - it’ll be great.”

Sammy knows he believes what he’s saying, knows it to his core. He didn’t have doubts anymore. Sammy would never be able to make a life for himself that involved happiness unless Jack was there with him. It was just a fact. 

Then, because Sammy can’t express genuine emotions for too long without starting to spiral, he quickly has to add “You do realize there’s winter in Chicago, right?”

Jack laughs and Sammy doesn’t even feel guilty about how it’s his favorite sound.


	4. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental health stopped working for awhile yesterday so the next update to this probs won't be 'til Friday, but I hope you like this part! Thanks for reading!

**King Falls Colorado, August 2015**

“Welcome to King Falls AM, you’re here with us on the fourth day of what has been dubbed as the King Falls Electrolocaust. As you are probably aware unless you’re sequestered up in a cabin in the mountains that has no modern technology, all post-1980s advancements in tech are no longer functioning in our little Mountain Mayberry. One step closer to turning King Falls into Pleasantville, I can only assume. You’re here with Sammy Stevens, my cohost Ben Arnold is -”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m late -”

“My cohost Ben Arnolad has just arrived a whole minute late this evening. Gasps of shock from the flabbergasted audience!”

“Oh, shut up.”

“He is also, may I add, wearing a spiffy pair of horn-rimmed glasses that I’ve never seen before. I didn’t realize contact lenses had also been affected by this blast from the past.”

“How would that even - you know what, I’m not gracing that with a response. I’m late because I no longer have an alarm clock and woke up with fifteen minutes to get here.”

“Hence the glasses and pajama pants, I presume.”

“You’d presume right.”

“Well, I like the glasses. Make you look like an academic.”

“Har de har. Yeah, you can really tell I spent four years at community college when I get these bad boys on. The stellar education just shines through.”

“Community college? Is that the one I keep seeing signs for here in town?”

“Yep. King Falls Community College. It’s more of a center than a college, really, it’s just two buildings out on Taylor Ranch Road. The true height of academia, as evidenced by my  _ spiffy  _ glasses. How old do you have to be to use a word like spiffy as an adjective?”

“I think you used it two weeks ago to describe Archie’s pomchis after he started using that new grooming regiment.”

“....Touche.”

“Well, they’re spiffy nonetheless. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear my glasses and we’ll be twins.”

“Are they spiffy too?”

“Not nearly as spiffy as yours.”

“I feel like we’ve now overused the word spiffy so much it no longer exists. Let’s eradicate from our vocabulary henceforth.”

“Ooh, henceforth. Now that’s a word for academic heights.”

“You’re in a weird mood tonight.”

“It’s a weird time, Ben! We’re living a brand new idyllic existence free of the evils of the Internet.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being genuine or sarcastic.”

“I’m impersonating Sheila down at the Bent and Dent. She says that the Internet was invented by Satan himself to make our children devil-worshippers.”

“Well, I guess Sheila has spent her share of time on Reddit.”

“Fair point. Alright, let’s get back on track and get the phone lines open this evening. Tell us, King Falls, are you loving this tech-free existence or is it driving you up the wall?”

“Uh, the latter. For sure. One hundred percent.”

“Oh, come on, there’s nothing good about unplugging?”

“FOMO, dude. I feel like we’re entirely cut off from the rest of the world.”

“I mean, fair, but can’t that be a good thing? To feel like you’re in your own little world?”

“Not for this long. I just want to check Twitter, Sammy! I want to know how my Neopets are doing!”

“That’s adorable.”

“....oh, shut up.”

“Well, I for one am not hating the disconnect, folks. I mean, sure it’s annoying and inconvenient. But it’s not so bad, getting out of your tech bubble.”

“Spoken like the true old man you are.”

“Five years, dude. Five years’ difference.”

“Six.”

“Five and a half. Why are we arguing about this again?”

“Because there’s nothing else to do without Twitter!”

“Technology dependency is a real issue, folks.”

“Whatever.”

“I will say that Ben and I have been spending a lot of quality time together outside the station since we went off the grid, which has helped make the separation anxiety much more bearable.”

“Aww, should I be flattered?”

“Sure, Ben. Bit of a back-handed compliment for you today.”

“It has been nice, though, hanging out outside the station. We should do it more often. When the electronics come back on. I mean,  _ if  _ they come back on.”

“You know, I’m in full agreement with that, Ben. So tell us, folks - have you been getting closer to your friends and family this week? Since your kids are no longer permanently connected to their iPhones?”

“Old. Man.”

“Tiny. Toddler.”

“C’mon, toddler?”

“I love how you don’t even try to refute how tiny you are.”

**Dubuque Iowa, August 2005**

“So Benny, how was your flight? Not too long?”

Shelly looks at Ben hopefully across the dinner table. She’s not at all what Ben had been expecting. She’s petite, fair-haired, and kind. She helped Ben carry his bag into the house when he got here, fussing over whether she had fixed something he liked for dinner. 

“It was fine,” Ben says softly, setting his fork down. He does like pot roast, but he thinks he might throw up if he tries to eat anything right now.

He chances a look across the table at his father. Joshua Stockton isn’t a tall man - Ben had to get his height from somewhere, after all - but he is an intimidating one. He’s broad shouldered, barrel-chested, and has a dark salt and pepper beard that hadn’t been there the last time Ben had seen him, five years prior. 

His father doesn’t look back at Ben. He just shovels food into his mouth, quick and messy, and Ben feels sick just watching. 

“What is it, two hours to Colorado from here?” Shelly says, her smile strained as she looks over at Ben’s father, as if begging him to join in the conversation. He doesn’t, of course.

“Yeah, two hours,” Ben answers, and chews on his chapped lips instead of his food. 

Ben had requested the time off to see his dad from Ron last week, quiet and without making eye contact. Ron clapped Ben on the shoulder and told him all he had to do was make it through one week and then he’d be back home and all would be fine. 

Ron could obviously tell how much Ben didn’t want to go.

His mom knew it too, and told Ben it was his choice in the end, that she wouldn’t try to sway him either way. But his father had offered to pay for a plane ticket, and Ben - 

Ben was curious. It had been five years. He wasn’t willing to stop hating his father, but he wanted to know just how justified that hatred was still. 

So he’d flown into Minneapolis because it was cheaper than flying into Chicago, and about the same drive time to the northern corner of Iowa, where his father had moved when Ben was twelve. 

Ben had thrown up in the airport bathroom when he landed he’d been so nervous. His father had picked him up on the curbside and hadn’t noticed how woozy Ben looked. They’d listened to the radio on the four hour drive to Dubuque without much conversation.

Ben isn’t sure why his father wanted him to visit, but he does want to find out. Because so far, his father hasn’t shown any interest in Ben. Shelly, who Ben has never met once before today, is at least trying to engage with him. 

“School starts at the end of August - your senior year! You must be excited,” Shelly says and Ben holds off a bitter laugh and a comment about how he couldn’t be dreading anything more. “Are you on the football team?”

“No,” Ben says, a blush rising to his cheeks as he tries not to look at his father. “I - I’m too small for that.”

His father finally makes a sound, a deep barking laugh. He doesn’t quite look at Ben, but he doesn’t look away either. “That doesn’t mean anything. You show them you’re tough, they won’t care that you’re small.”

“Well, it’s a little late now,” Ben says, the first thing he’s said directly to his father since dinner started. “Besides, sports aren’t really my thing.”

“Well, you know, everyone has different interests,” Shelly says, very bright. She is trying really hard, and Ben does appreciate that. It makes this a little easier. “What are you interested in? Music?”

“I’m in the choir,” Ben mumbles, not looking at his father. Joshua Stockton wanted a son who played football, not that sang songs, that had been abundantly clear all Ben’s life. Most of his memories of his father have to do with hunting and fishing and ball-throwing and catching, an effort to make Ben man up. “I paint the sets for the theatre productions. I would be on the newspaper if the school had one - I want to be a journalist.”

“Dying field,” his father mutters under his breath and Ben’s heart sinks. 

Shelly glares at Joshua for half a second before turning back to smile at Ben. “And what are you doing this summer?”

“Um, I volunteer at the radio station,” Ben says, not liking his father knowing personal details about him. “And I work at the Bait and Tackle.”

“Bait and Tackle?” His father finally meets Ben’s eye, and though he’s not smiling, there’s something more familiar in his gaze. “How is old Andy doing?”

“Uh, he died earlier this year,” Ben says, looking at the table. “His son Ron owns the shop now.”

“Sorry to hear that, he was a hell of a guy, hell of a fisherman, too,” his father says, and he can manage to sound affectionate about Andy Begley but not about Ben, which is entirely unsurprising. “Still, that’s good work. It’ll teach you some good, old-fashioned American values.”

“Something like that,” Ben mutters and Shelly clears her throat purposefully.

“Well, you must be tired from your flight,” Shelly says, standing up and gesturing for Ben to stand with her. He does, relieved that she’s interrupting. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room so you can get rested up. You’ve never been to Iowa before, so I thought we’d go to the Riverwalk tomorrow, see the Mississippi up close. Isn’t that right, Josh?”

Ben’s father blinks over at his wife, and smiles, but Ben can tell that it's just fake and hollow as when Joshua used to tell Betty Arnold he’d take care of Ben for the day. “Sounds good.”

Shelly glances between the two of them, clearing begging either of them to wish each other a goodnight, but it’s not going to be Ben.

Shelly deflates after a couple seconds, and gestures for Ben to follow her up the short staircase.

“Alright, this is for you,” Shelly says, opening the door to the first bedroom on the left. It’s a small room, dressed in dark blue trimmings but otherwise bare. Joshua and Shelly apparently don’t have many overnight guests. “The bathroom’s right across the hall if you want to shower, there’s a towel in there for you already. There’s a television in here if you want to watch anything - we have cable.”

“Thanks, Shelly,” Ben says, more forcefully because it’s not just a thank you for the room. “I appreciate it.”

Shelly’s smile verges on sad as she pats Ben’s shoulder briefly. “Don’t mention it, Ben. I’ll try to get your dad in a better mood for tomorrow, alright? I think he’s just tired.”

“You don’t have to make excuses,” Ben tells her. “I know what he’s like.”

Shelly sighs, and pushes her blonde curls out of her face with one of her hands. “Yeah, well, he could be a little kinder to you. I promise tomorrow will be fun, alright?”

“Alright,” Ben says. He doesn’t believe her but appreciates the effort she’s putting in. His father sure as hell isn’t going to do it.

The house on the outskirts of Dubuque is small, but it’s two floors, and very neat and clean. Ben can tell immediately that it’s Shelly’s doing, that she takes care of everything and makes it look as nice as it does, that his father couldn’t give less of a shit what his house looks like.

Shelly works as a paraprofessional in the school district, and Ben has no idea how his father managed to convince a woman like that to marry him. He had never thought of his father as the marrying type to begin with. When his mother had told him two years ago that his father had gotten married, Ben had laughed in her face and not believed it.

Shelly clearly deserves better than Joshua, that much is obvious, even if his father is kinder to her than he ever was to Betty.

Ben wonders if it’s because Shelly’s white and Betty isn’t.

His father works as a mechanic and co-owns a repair shop in Dubuque. Ben also can’t picture his father as a business owner, responsibility previously not one of his considerations. He’d worked odd jobs in King Falls when he’d happened to be in town, which had hardly been consistent. 

For twelve years, Joshua Stockton had dipped in and out of Ben’s life, mostly ignoring him even when he was in town. Ben could wave to him in the street after not seeing him for six months and his dad would flat out ignore him. 

His drinking problem has always been there, but it came to a head when Ben was twelve and Betty told Joshua to get out of town if he wasn’t going to be a good influence to Ben. And Joshua had listened, and hadn’t been back. Ben hadn’t gone to see him. There had been scattered phone calls here and there, but that was it for almost five years. 

As far as Ben was considered, getting out of King Falls was the only good thing Joshua Stockton had brought into his life. But if he helped pay for Ben’s education he’d be willing to add one more thing to the very short list of things his father was good for.

A week-long visit isn’t on the list, though, because his father’s surliness doesn’t improve. Sure, he comes along for Shelly’s ideas of where to take Ben, but he’s always a million miles away, barely in conversation with either of them and usually looking longingly in the direction of the Diamond Jo Casino.

Ben might be imagining that one, but he trusts his own judgment that says his father is nowhere near an upstanding member of society.

Still, a week with Shelly is bearable. She’s nice, and helpful, and buys Ben school supplies for fall when they go to Wal-Mart. 

It’s his father that makes Ben uncomfortable.

It’s Ben’s third dinner in his father’s house when Joshua finally talks frankly to him. Ben had been reluctantly telling Shelly about the other kids in his class when Joshua interrupts, his voice scratchy and judgmental.

“You still the only black kid in your class?”

“I, uh, yeah,” Ben says, caught off guard by the question. “I mean, there are a couple of Native American kids, and a few more Mexican kids…”

“Well, that must be a little lonely,” Shelly says to him, and Ben shrinks even though she’s obviously well-meaning.

“Uh, I guess,” Ben says, shrinking in on himself automatically.  “King Falls is just. Small. Not a lot of diversity.”

His father snorts under his breath but doesn’t speak.

“There’s probably more there than here in Iowa,” Shelly tries and fails to keep the peace, Ben already feeling the sweat on the back of his neck as his father half-looks at him.

Ben’s three things that no one else in King Falls is - Jewish, black, and mixed. The few times his father picked him up from school, there were always questions, because Joshua Stockton is white and Ben is not. 

Ben knows that started disappointing his father the second it was clear he was going to take after his mother.

Ben takes a long drink of water as Shelly looks at him with something close to pity. His father just keeps eating his meal like he didn’t just bring up the most consequential aspect of their relationship.

Ben keeps up the stony silence after that, trying to match his father’s surliness in whatever way he can. He feels bad for Shelly, who keeps trying to maintain peace and foster a relationship between them. But Ben doesn’t see any point in being polite if his father isn’t going to give Ben the same treatment.

It’s Ben’s last night in Dubuque when his father stops short in front of the guest bedroom door and says “Ben, come out to the garage with me.”

Ben thinks that might be the first time his father’s used his name this whole trip.

Ben’s surprised enough that he doesn’t argue, following his father down the stairs and out the side door and into the one-car garage that’s attached to the house. 

It’s a mess, and that’s how Ben can tell this is his father’s domain that Shelly has no part in. Greasy parts, a worn scratched up workbench, tools strewn about. A mini fridge with a case of Coronas in it. 

His father goes straight to the fridge and pulls out two of the Coronas. He offers one to Ben, and all Ben can do is stare.

“Come on, you’re sixteen,” his father says, practically guiding the beer into Ben’s hand. “You’ve had beer before, you don’t have to pretend with me like you do with your mom.”

Ben hasn’t actually drank beer. He has no friends and has never been to a party, and even if he had he doesn’t think he’d drink there. Because his dad drinks. And Ben doesn’t ever want to be his dad. 

“I thought you were sober,” Ben says quietly, looking down at the beer in his hand as his father takes a long swig of his own. 

“Beer barely counts,” his father says, dismissive. Ben internally calls bullshit immediately. “No hard liquor anymore.”

“Does Shelly know you have these out here?” Ben asks and his father grins, wide and almost terrifying. 

“Our little secret,” he says. That might’ve worked on ten year old Ben, but it sure as hell doesn’t work on Ben now. But it’s his last night here and he’s not planning on seeing his father again anytime soon. So he takes a tentative sip of beer.

He winces when the bitter liquid hits his throat. “That’s - awful.”

His father laughs at him. “You get used to it.”

Ben doesn’t think he will, but he stays quiet. 

“So,” his father says. “I hear you want to go to college.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, heart in his throat as the two of them finally reach the reason Ben’s here. The only reason, Ben knows they’re both perfectly aware. His father makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s neither positive or negative, just a noise. An acknowledgement.

“And you want my help,” his father says, and Ben can feel himself shrinking. 

“Yeah,” Ben says, feeling especially stupid for just sitting here waiting for some benevolence from his father that he’s an idiot to even hope for.

Ben’s father, however, just nods. “Alright. Sounds reasonable. I figure I owe your mom for all those late and incomplete child support payments in the past. So I’ll give you - what? Textbook money? I hear textbooks are expensive.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Ben says, his voice so small he doesn’t know if his father even hears it. 

“You’ll stay in King Falls for college,” his father says like it’s not even a debate. “Stay close to your mom. You’re all she’s got.”

Ben doesn’t respond. He was pretty much already expecting and planning to stay in King Falls regardless, but he doesn't want his father to think it was his idea.

“And you’ll a degree in something  _ useful _ ,” his father says and Ben’s heart sinks. He knew there would be a caveat. There always is with his father. “None of this fucking journalism, alright? Computer science. Medicine. Something decent.”

Ben can’t keep quiet about that.

“No,” Ben unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach like he’s about to vomit. “Journalism’s what I want to do.”

“It’s worthless," his father waves a hand. “If you’re taking out loans, you gotta find a way to pay those back. You can’t do that with a  _ journalism  _ degree.”

“I can try,” Ben argues, not willing to back down on this one. “I already know I can get a job when I graduate.”

His father laughs, low and mean. “You can’t know that.”

“I can,” Ben says, confident though he rarely is. But a week with his father has pushed him closer to snapping. “And I’m going to college for journalism - that’s what I want to do. Do something like - like Cronkite. Or Brokaw.”

His father just shakes his head. “Maybe you could make more of yourself than your mom ever did, but -”

“Shut up,” Ben bites without thinking, hot anger overwhelming him. No one in the world gets to talk shit about his mom, especially Joshua fucking Stockton, the laziest piece of shit excuse for a father. “My mom works harder than you ever will.”

“Whatever,” his father rolls his eyes, takes another drink of beer. “I’m just saying. Adjust your dreams to reality. You’re never gonna get anywhere special, best you just accept that now. You’ll be lucky if you graduate.”

“Just because you didn’t do anything with your life - ” Ben starts to bite at him before he stops himself, clenching his teeth. When he speaks again, he tries to match his father’s low pitch. He knows it doesn’t work the same way, but he doesn’t think he sounds dumb either. “I don’t need your help. Alright? It’d be a decent thing for you to do, but I don’t need it. Mom and I can take care of ourselves. Just like always.”

Joshua Stockton just looks at Ben like he’s the stupidest idiot that ever lived, and Ben stares right back, not willing to give up his ground on this one.

“Christ, I can’t believe Shelly talked me into this,” his father says as he breaks eye contact with Ben. 

“Shelly?” Ben feels a shiver pass through his body. “It was Shelly’s idea. Me coming here. Wasn’t it?”

“She wanted to meet you,” his father starts, and Ben cuts him off. 

“And you didn’t want to see me,” Ben says, and can’t help but laugh. “You stopped giving a shit about me a  _ long  _ time ago, and now I guess your new wife is playing your conscience. Well - good news for you - I don’t want your money. Or to ever see you again. You can just - stay out of my life, like you were up ‘til now. We don’t ever have to see each other again. Like you always wanted.”

Ben wants his father to argue, to fight back, to say anything. But Joshua Stockton just finishes off his beer.

Ben leaves his beer on the workbench, missing just one sip, and goes back upstairs.

His father isn’t there in the morning. Shelly, with red eyes, drives Ben to the airport. He hugs her goodbye outside and thanks her for everything. They both know perfectly well they’re never going to see each other again. 

Ben hopes she leaves. It’s what Joshua deserves. After all the shit he put Betty through year after year, with her begging him for even scraps of help, he deserves a woman who doesn’t have that obligation to him to cut him off completely.

His mom picks him up at the airport in Denver, and Ben knows she can tell how it went by the look on his face.

She pulls him close to her, whispers that he’s such a good boy, that his father isn’t a measure of his worth or his future, that Ben can do anything he wants to. That Ben’s life is his own. 

Ben can’t tell her that he doesn’t even think about that. Because he’s never been the kind of kid to idolize his father. Joshua had made sure of that. Ben had always wanted to be just like his mom when he grew up. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben reassures his mom on their drive home as Betty wipes at her eyes and lets off a string of curses when she hears what Joshua said. “He only offered to help pay for textbooks anyway. I can figure out how to pay for those. He wasn’t ever gonna be my savior here.”

“I know,” his mom says, sighing as she takes the exit toward King Falls off of Route 72. “I’m sorry I pushed that, I just - I just thought maybe he’d try to make up for the past. I was wrong. I’m so sorry, Benny.”

“It’s okay,” Ben tells her, resting his head against the window, reassured by the usual sights of King Falls coming into view, the sun setting behind the trees. He’s home. He shouldn’t have left to begin with. 

“He could still change his mind…” His mom sighs, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I guess I still want to see the best in him.”

“I know,” Ben says quietly, closing his eyes. “Me too.”

“Are you nervous for school to start Monday?” His mom asks him as they approach their street block, and Ben shrugs. At least she knows better than to ask if he’s excited. 

“I know what to expect,” Ben says, quiet. He’s not exactly dreading it. The only way he’ll get to leave high school is by making it through this last year. He can push himself through one more time. He’s done it every year up until now. This is the homestretch. 

When they approach their house, Ben frowns at the unfamiliar object in their driveway. “Mom? What...is that?”

His mom’s trying to hide a smile, biting her lip like she can’t contain herself. “That, Benny, is your new car. Well, old car that’s new to you. You know what I mean.”

“I -  _ what _ ?” 

For once, Ben can’t breathe because of something incredible instead of heartwrenching, and when his mom pulls up next to it, Ben leaps out of the car to go examine in.

Ben knows jack shit about makes and models, but the car is forest green, low to the ground, and the paint job looks too new and shiny to be in their price range. 

“How - ?” Ben breathes, and thinks he might cry. His mom giggles, putting a hand over her mouth, as she gets out of the driver’s seat.

“I bought Mel’s worst piece of shit in the lot, and dropped it off at the Bait and Tackle right after you left,” his mom tells him and Ben gapes at her. “Ron fixed it up nice, didn’t he?” 

“Ron did this?” Ben asks, running a hand across the driver’s seat window. His driver’s seat. His car. 

“It was his idea,” his mom says. “Said you had no business being seventeen and having to walk to school. And he had the parts and the expertise, and I had the money so...we did it! Happy seventeenth birthday, Ben.”

“I love it,” Ben says, and sprints over to his mom to envelop her in a hug. He’s only an inch taller than her but for once it feels like he’s six feet tall. “I love you. Thank you. You’re the best mom in the world. I don’t care about my father - you’re good enough to make up for every shitty thing he does. I love you so much. I’m so lucky -”

“I’m the lucky one,” his mom says as she squeezes Ben back. “You’re the best son in the whole world, Ben, don’t you forget it. And you make me proud every single day. Just think - one year from now, you’re gonna be going to college.”

For once, Ben believes her without question. His mom can do anything. 

**Minneapolis Minnesota, August 2005**

Sammy splashes cold water on his face in the airport bathroom.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror as he uses his t-shirt to wipe away the water. He doesn’t know how he wants to look when he sees Jack. Cool? Nonchalant? Ordinary? Excited? Like his heart is going to burst out of his chest the second he sees Jack face to face? 

He hears the sound of throwing up in one of the stalls, and Sammy considers joining the guy, he feels so nervous. Drinking coffee this morning had been a truly awful decision, the caffeine upping his nerves so much that he feels like he’s vibrating. 

Sammy looks at himself in the mirror one last time before taking a deep breath and leaving the bathroom, reminding himself that Jack probably isn’t going to notice anything in particular about him. 

Or at least that’s part of the pep talk he’s giving himself. The other part is that Jack is going to be happy to see him. 

Sammy hopes he doesn’t break down and cry when he sees Jack. That’s the only thing he thinks he won’t be able to recover from. 

He’s way too early; Jack’s flight isn’t even scheduled to be in for another thirty minutes. Sammy briefly relives three months prior when he and Jack had been in this exact place putting off Jack getting on the plane to leave, just without opposite emotions, anxiety instead of depression. 

He’s coming back so much faster than Sammy had expected. Sammy’s extraordinarily relieved by that fact, but that isn’t stopping the nerves thrumming through his body at the prospect of seeing Jack again.

Sammy doesn’t think he’s changed all that much this summer, and he doesn’t think Jack’s changed either. At least he hopes not. He wants everything to stay the same between them.

Finally, Sammy feels like it’s an appropriate time to go wander around baggage claim and wait for Jack to call him and say where he is. He only spends about ten minutes there before he feels someone tap his shoulder.

Before he can even properly turn around, he’s being enveloped in a tight, overwhelming hug, his face smashed into Jack’s neck. Sammy doesn’t think about anything for a whole two seconds except how happy he is, how right this feels, the smell of Jack’s cologne, and how much he’s missed his best friend. 

“Hey,” Jack releases Sammy a couple seconds later and he’s beaming, bright eyes and a wide smile that shows off his dimples.

Sammy opens his mouth to respond, but his lightheadedness has turned to an overwhelming dizzy feeling. There’s nothing he wants to do in this moment than lean in and kiss Jack stupid. 

Sammy tampers down the urge, but it’s still there, present and lurking under the surface. 

“Hey,” he says instead, knowing his smile probably makes him look deranged. “Good flight?”

Jack shrugs like that hardly matters, and he doesn’t stop grinning. “Good that I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, laughing breathlessly, and Jack joins him. “Do you - do you have bags…?”

“Most of my stuff is being shipped to Lily’s,” Jack says, and he gestures to his duffle bag on his shoulder. “This is all I’ve got.”

“Okay,” Sammy says, and it takes a second before his brain catches up enough to say “I’m parked about as far away from here as you can imagine…”

“Well, we have to get used to it!” Jack says, slinging an arm around Sammy’s shoulder and squeezing, just for a second, before the pressure is gone and they start walking. “It’s only gonna get worse in Chicago.”

“Yeah,” Sammy grins, following Jack. “So much worse.”

They get back to Sammy’s car with only minor difficulties and complaints, but Sammy doesn’t even sort of care, and he knows Jack doesn’t either. They’re together again, Jack’s close enough to touch, he’s back in the passenger’s seat of Sammy’s car and teasing him about how messy  it is and everything is perfect again.

Lily had wanted Jack to fly right into Chicago, but Jack insisted on flying into Minneapolis and driving down with Sammy. Sammy knows Lily is thinking truly insufferable things about this situation, but he can’t bring himself to care how it looks. It’s only Lily, after all, and Lily makes all kinds of wild assumptions. Sammy just hopes she doesn’t tell Jack about the ones that land. 

Jack probably just wanted to hang out in Minneapolis for one last night, and that was fine with Sammy. Some of their college friends were gonna come over to the house in Como where Sammy had packed up almost all of his belongings over the past few days and shoved them into the nooks and crannies of his too-small car. 

“So glad I decided to ship everything,” Jack says from where he’s had to fold his knees up to his chest in the passenger’s seat since Sammy’s stuff covers every inch of the floor. “We’d never fit all of our crap in here.”

“I’m just worried about the state of the car after having to house all my shit for weeks, or however long it takes to find an apartment,” Sammy says as he takes the exit toward the university. “I feel like it’s gonna burst.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jack says, his voice leaving no room for doubt. Sammy likes everything about Jack, but especially how he never fails to quell Sammy’s fears about everything from housing problems to their future together. 

The house is busy enough by the time Sammy finds a decent parking place, and all of their friends excitedly greet Jack at the door. Jack’s always the favorite anyway, and Sammy’s perfectly happy to let the conversation wash over him and just relish in the fact that Jack’s here.

Sammy will have Jack all to himself starting tomorrow, so he doesn’t even care that Jack’s attention is spread in every which way. 

“So what job did you guys get again?” Todd asks after they’ve broken out the chips, guacamole, and way too much beer. Sammy and Jack hate Coronas, and give each other an eye roll when Todd breaks them out, but they’re both drinking one anyway. 

“Well, we don’t have it yet,” Jack explains. “We made it through the second round of interviews, but there’s one more in-person on Thursday before we get it for sure. It’s a fellowship at the station my sister works for, they take six newcomers to the business and let them formulate a show. It’s super cool, not many places do things like that.”

“So I’m hearing nepotism,” Angie says with a laugh. “But that’s super cool, guys. Especially since you found something together. Sammy’s been like, despondent without you this summer, Jack.”

“I have not!” Sammy argues, putting gusto and dramatis into his voice to hide the fact that he knows perfectly well that all he did for three months was mope. 

“Well, it’s not all he’s done,” Brad interrupts, and Sammy feels violently ill for half a second before Brad says “He also started smoking like a chimney.”

“He quit a few weeks back,” Angie swats Brad, giggling. “Probably since he knew you’d kill him for it, Jack.”

“Oh, for sure,” Jack knocks his beer against Sammy’s. “He wouldn’t make it through a week with me before I destroyed all of his cigarettes. You better not think about starting again.”

“What’s the pay like?” Maisy asks from behind Angie and Jack gives some non-answer. The pay isn’t great, but it’s better than what either of them made this summer, and it’s enough that they can get a shitty apartment together. It’s all Sammy needs. If they can get salaried after this at the same station, it’s more than worth it.

Sammy would live in a box on the street if he could share it with Jack, but that’s not the kind of thing he says out loud, so he lets the conversation move on without him. 

He does catch Brad looking at him funny more than once. Maybe Sammy’s imagining it, but he can’t help but be glad that this is his last night in Minneapolis, in Como, in this house, forever.

Maisy lives in Jack’s old room, so Jack shares with Sammy that night. They’ve slept in the same bed before - Sammy could probably list each individual time - and it doesn’t feel any different. Jack’s always close so it’s fine, it’s natural, but it’s accompanied with the usual feeling of tension threatening to bubble to the surface.

Jack grins at Sammy before Sammy goes to turn the light out. “Hey. This time tomorrow, we’re in Chicago.”

“I know,” Sammy tells him, rolling his eyes so he doesn’t have to feel things. “I’m aware how the passage of time works.”

“It’s just exciting,” Jack reaches for Sammy’s pillow, and tries to hit him with it. Sammy ducks easily. “Are you excited?”

“Unbelievably,” Sammy admits and Jack grins up at him, carefree and happy and tired, and Sammy - 

Sammy turns the light off.

He thinks not being able to see Jack’s face will make things easier. Because the dizzy feeling from the airport is back, stronger than before. Sammy thinks about what would happen if he just leaned down to kiss Jack goodnight, chaste and brief, like it was typical, like it happened between them every day.

It happens again in the morning. Sammy wakes up before Jack and Jack’s curled around a pillow, snuffling slightly, his hair messy and falling in his eyes. Sammy reaches out as if to brush it away, but catches himself just in time.

“Jack?” Sammy whispers, and Jack doesn’t respond. He isn’t snoring, but he’s breathing deeply. Peacefully, like he’s still dreaming. 

Sammy wants to lean in and kiss Jack awake, kiss the spot where his hair meets the back of his neck, kiss his forehead, just kiss him, he wants so badly to kiss him and Jack’s so close, it would be so easy.

Sammy squeezes his eyes shut and waits to calm down. When he opens them again, Jack’s shifted, just slightly, even closer to Sammy. They’re only inches away.

The words are on the tip of Sammy’s tongue.  _ I love you.  _

Sammy settles for just feeling it, and he roughly shakes Jack awake a couple of seconds later so he doesn’t have to resist the temptation of desperately wanting more.

“First thing we need when we get an apartment,” Jack starts to explain on their way out the door, wiggling his thermos in Sammy’s direction. “Coffee pot. We can subsist off of Lily’s for now, but that’s a must-have.”

“I would think, you know, furniture and appliances would come first,” Sammy raises an eyebrow as they both get in the car, squeezing the last of their bags into the overflowing middle section. It’s packed to the brim; Sammy can’t see jack shit out of his back window. It’s odd, seeing his life bundled up in so neatly in his car.

And Jack’s there, cross-legged in the front seat with his thermos of coffee, the way Sammy hopes he always is. 

“Coffee is more important,” Jack declares. Sammy laughs, and pulls out of Como for the last time. 

It’s a four hour drive to Chicago, four hours of just catching up with Jack about all the moments they missed. It’s so much better than a phone conversation, because Jack is right here, accessible and not leaving, and the disconnect that had filled their summer months is gone.

Sammy hadn’t needed to worry about things being different. Everything had fallen exactly back into place; his and Jack’s edges still fit together like puzzle pieces. Sammy laughs at all of Jack’s jokes, Jack rolls his eyes at Sammy’s, and the world is as it should be again.

Sammy and Jack switch off driving when they get close to the city. Jack’s better at city driving and knows the protocol for toll booths, and Sammy scrunches himself into the passenger’s seat. 

“How have you been sitting like this for over three hours?” Sammy asks Jack, resting his chin on his knee. 

“Maybe we should add a new car to the list of things to get,” Jack says, confident at first until he winces and he makes a face. “Sorry. I know that’s presumptive. But like. Parking is expensive as fuck, so if you wanna go half and half on a nicer car….I’m just saying.”

“This is already basically your car,” Sammy says, his teasing tone not matching how soft and warm he feels inside at the idea of his and Jack’s lives merging so completely like that. “You drove it more than me during the school year.”

“My job was off-campus and yours wasn’t!” Jack starts with a roll of his eyes, an old argument between them that no longer applies and yet still feels natural and easy. “Anyway. We can decide later. I mean, presuming this car doesn’t break down before we get there.” 

“Don’t use the B word in front of it,” Sammy mutters darkly as Jack laughs. “It’ll start getting ideas.”

Traffic is awful, and Sammy’s glad that Jack’s the one behind the driver’s seat as they inch closer and closer to Chicago. Lily lives in North Park, so it doesn’t take nearly as long to get there as it would to actually get into the city itself, but Jack’s still cursing out drivers. Jack has patience with everyone except bad drivers, and it’s always funny to see him get worked up since not much else fazes him.

They buzz up to Lily’s apartment a little past five, and Lily’s roommate Rosie greets them at the door.

“Hey guys!” Rosie hugs Jack first, then Sammy. Rosie’s been Lily’s roommate for the past two years, so she’s met Jack and Sammy quite a few times. She’s very slight and red-haired and one of the only people in the world that Lily has any patience for whatsoever. “Oh gosh, I’m so happy you’re here. Lily couldn’t be more thrilled.”

“Where is my sister?” Jack says with a practiced eye-roll. “Too high and mighty to greet me?”

“On her way home from work,” Rosie corrects with a giggle. “She hasn’t shut up about you all month, Jack. She’s so glad you’re moving here.”

“Of course she is, it makes me that much easier to blackmail,” Jack deadpans, but Sammy catches him grinning. Jack loves Lily more than anything, Sammy knows for a fact, and Lily loves Jack right back. They’re just perpetually unable to express any sort of affection to each other’s faces.

When Lily does get home, it’s with a “hey losers” directed in Sammy and Jack’s direction without a glance at where they’re standing talking with Rosie in the kitchen. She breezes past them and down the hall, making Rosie laugh and Jack sigh through his nose.

When she emerges, it’s with a self-deprecating grin, and Jack picks her up off the ground when they hug, which Lily despises.

“Get off,” she swats Jack’s shoulder as Jack sets her back down. “God, you’re obnoxious.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Jack says with a smirk as Lily brushes past Jack, purposefully bumping shoulders with him as she comes to hug Sammy, very briefly. They’d graduated to hugging after three years of acquaintanceship, and it’s still awkward and more obligatory than anything, like seeing a distant relative at a family function. 

“Stevens,” Lily says, breaking away from him in a second. “I see you two survived the drive.”

“Barely,” Jack says, and Sammy cuts him off before he starts going off about annoying Midwest drivers. 

“How was work, Lily?” Sammy says with a pointed look at Jack, who just flips Sammy off at the interruption.

“I’m saying nothing about work until your interview is over,” Lily warns him, turning to Jack with a wagging finger as well. “I won’t give you an unfair advantage.”

“You could’ve just said  _ work was fine _ ,” Jack says with a winning smile and Lily glares in response. “Just trying to be helpful.”

“Oh, c’mon, you can tell them something,” Rosie says from where she’s leaning against the cupboards. “A nugget or two.”

“Absolutely not,” Lily says, as much of a stickler as ever. “Your interview is in the morning, we can talk shop after that.  _ Don’t  _ mention you’re related to me, or even that you know me at all.”

“You two do have the same last name,” Sammy points out. “I think they’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

“Half the city’s last name is Wright, they’ll look right past it,” Lily says. “Don’t lie, obviously, if you’re asked about me say yes. But I’m not helping you out. You’re getting this gig on your own or not at all. That being said...you’ll probably get it, I’ve looked at the applicant pool and you’re strong contenders."

Lily half-hides a rueful smile as Jack grins and slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Always looking out for me,” Jack teases, and Lily promptly twists his hand behind his head and he kicks her to free himself. Sammy and Rosie exchange an eye roll. 

“How about we go out to dinner to celebrate?” Rosie asks after a minute of fake-wrestling from the Wright siblings, because childish violence is the only way they know how to express their feelings toward one another. “That Vietnamese place on the corner?”

“What’s there to celebrate?” Lily’s currently trying to squirm free of a headlock and failing. She’ll start gouging eyes and biting fingers soon enough. “The end of my respectability?”

“The fact that your brother is living in the same town as you for the first time since you were teenagers,” Rosie says, exasperated and smug at once. “C’mon, stop being five year olds. Jack, let go of your sister, I mean it.”

“She started it,” Jack bites sarcastically in Rosie’s direction, but he lets go of Lily with a laugh. Lily rubs her neck pointedly as she glares at Jack. 

“Did not!”

“And you call me immature,” Sammy comments dryly and earns glares from both of them. Jack’s breaks first though, and his grin is carefree and delighted. Nothing gives Jack more pleasure than riling Lily up. 

He continues to do it through dinner, so it’s a good thing that there’s nothing Lily likes more than being riled up, and she’s clearly very satisfied with how annoyed she is at Jack. Their relationship is weird as hell, and Sammy doesn’t question it. 

He doesn’t have a sibling. He assumes this is just how siblings work. That or the Wrights are just insane. It’s probably both. 

Jack and Sammy both sleep on Lily’s couch that night - it’s a sectional, so they each have enough room to lay down and only their feet intersect. They’ve done this before, during weekend visits, and sometimes Jack will kick Sammy in his sleep and Sammy will feel helplessly fond. 

“I can’t sleep,” Sammy says well after the lights have gone out. Jack makes a noise to show he’s listening. “Are you nervous? I’m nervous. I hate job interviews.”

“Just think about what Lily said,” Jack yawns. “We’re strong contenders. We work well together. Hopefully they’ll see that. And if they don’t - well - we’ll find something else. It’s a big city. Lots of radio. Maybe Ira Glass is hiring.”

“Optimist,” Sammy rolls his eyes. 

“Cynic,” Jack retorts right back. 

They’re quiet for another second before Jack says “I’m really glad we’re here, though.”

“Me too,” Sammy whispers, becoming all too aware of how fast his heart is beating. He can feel Jack’s ankle pressed against his own, and it’s all he can think about.

The next week is a whirlwind of anxiety. The interview comes first, of course; it’s more of an audition than an interview which makes it all the more nerve-wracking. He and Jack had researched a piece, prepped it over the phone, but had never done it in person together before now, which was more than a little stressful. But the managers had seemed to like it, and said they’d be hearing back shortly.

There’s apartment hunting; everything is more expensive here, and they can’t make a commitment to anything until there’s a guarantee that they’re going to be paid soon. Even though their options are based on the pay they’d get with the fellowship position, there’s no promise that’s happening yet.

Living in close quarters with Lily doesn’t help. Lily is best in concentrated doses, especially when it comes to her being with Sammy and Jack together. She’ll raise her eyebrows and make dirty gestures and too many insinuations and Sammy will feel nauseous. Jack usually doesn’t notice, or else ignores her with an eye roll. 

Sammy is the one who checks his voicemail first.

_ “Hi, this is Ezra Baker over at 90.9 Public Radio calling for Samuel Stevens. The Young Journalists Fellowship positions have been decided, and I’m happy to inform you that you’ve been hired for the nine-month fellowship here at 90.9. To accept the position -” _

Sammy has to play it back a couple times to fully process everything. He’s sitting in his car, waiting for Jack to get an application from the apartment they just toured - tiny, likely with a roach infestation, but in their price range - and he feels like he can’t breathe but in the best way possible.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jack asks as he gets in the car, frowning at Sammy. The shocked expression on Sammy’s face likely clued him in. 

“Check your phone,” Sammy says, setting his own down. He knows he and Jack will get hired together, but he just needs confirmation, just needs to know that he’s not dreaming -

Jack frowns, but does as he’s told, clicking on his voicemail where there’s a message waiting for him. 

It takes all of ten seconds for Jack’s face to split into a beaming smile, completely unfiltered joy, and Sammy thinks he’s never seen anything so wonderful.

Sammy wants to kiss the look right off his face.

“We got it?” Jack laughs, incredulous and happy, and Sammy nods in response, overriding the impulse to kiss Jack by leaning in to hug him instead. “Oh my God, we got it, we totally got it! That’s insane. Holy shit.”

“I know, I know,” Sammy says, dizzy with excitement, the warmth of Jack’s hand on the back of his neck somehow feeling just as good as the incredible news. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can,” Jack says, letting go of Sammy and laughing disbelievingly to himself. “It’s you and me. It’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” Sammy agrees, half in a daze. 

They get back to Lily’s and have a champagne toast with Lily and Rosie, Lily even saying a few genuinely nice things about her brother as she toasts him that make Jack blush. Sammy thinks that he manages to hold it together the entire time without looking as lovestruck as he feels.

He hopes this stops soon, this compulsion to kiss Jack at every opportunity. Of course Sammy’s probably wanted to kiss Jack since the second he met him, but he’s usually better at keeping those thoughts repressed and under the surface, shoving them back down whenever one unexpectedly springs up. 

Absence has apparently made the heart grow fonder.

Sammy’s going to ignore that, though - he’s starting a life, a real life, in a place he never dreamed he’d make it to, with his favorite person in the world. His life is coming into shape around him; he finally has a direction he’s pointed in.

Sammy looks down at the  _ N  _ sketched permanently onto his forearm. He’s terrified as hell about what’s coming, but there’s a direction. Jack’s here. Jack is the direction. Sammy has to think it’ll all turn out fine.


End file.
